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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22714687">Dirty Laundry</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>BoJack Horseman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Flashback, M/M, Shameless Smut, alcohol use, q-slur</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:48:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,759</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22714687</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a late night on set, Mr. Peanutbutter walks himself into a particularly precarious situation, but surprisingly enough, Bojack isn’t complaining this time. Things come to a head in the present when both of them are forced to deal with what happened back in the 90’s. (Changed title, formally Good Boy)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>BoJack Horseman/Mr. Peanutbutter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>368</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anon Works</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There’s no real BJ/PB smut on ao3 so I had to write it myself lmao. What can I say? I’m a sucker for for their dynamic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mr. Peanutbutter prays that Katrina wouldn’t note on how late he’d gotten in the next morning. </p><p> </p><p>She normally slept like a log, which made sneaking in not too difficult of a feat. He’d just have to slide into bed and convince her that she <em> had </em> been a bit forgetful lately and that he <em> indeed </em> came in around eleven, not one in the morning. </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter lets his leather, stiff coat slide off his shoulders into a heap on the carpet. Normally he’d go out of his way to take the utmost care of his belongings, (he’d worked so hard for them, after all) but where his clothes went was the last thing on his mind at the moment. He can’t shake the fog that’s fallen around his head; it’s thick and heavy and swears up and down that he’s dreaming. Mr. Peanutbutter closes his eyes and lets a deep, controlled breath slip out of his nose, his hands finding purchase on the soft, suede couch cushions below as he sinks into it.  </p><p> </p><p>Before he realizes it, he’s sitting and sinking down into the sofa, his head rocking back to stare wide eyed at the ceiling. He keeps his eyes locked on the popcorn stucco until the peaks start to vibrate from him focusing too hard. Mr. Peanutbutter rubs his fists into his eyes and looks in front of him, his shadowy reflection in the T.V. grounding him back in reality. </p><p> </p><p>Tonight had actually happened. </p><p> </p><p>And he <em> definitely </em>wasn’t dreaming.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Taping had ended later that Mr. Peanutbutter would’ve preferred that night. </p><p> </p><p>They’d been filming the season finale of the show and he’s baffled that he’d been asked for so many retakes. He thought he’d done fine the first twenty or so times, sure, he’d improvised a bit where he felt it was necessary, but he <em> always </em> did a good job. That’s what he’d convinced himself of, and he had no intention of ever changing that view of himself. That was how <em> leaders </em>thought, and of course he was a leader--</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter stops a few feet from the set’s exit. Did he have his keys on him? They should’ve been in his front pocket, he always kept them there. Wait, these were those ill-fitting Levi’s Katrina had bought on one of her weekly Macy’s trips, the Levi’s that <em> didn’t </em> have front pockets for whatever reason. They were <em> sewn shut </em> . Sewn shut! He didn’t think a clothing company could think up something so ridiculous, but here he was, patting his useless faux pockets and <em> still </em>without his keys. </p><p> </p><p>He thinks for a moment, looking up at the metal, industrial ceiling. He knows that he always kept his set ID badge on his keyring, and he <em> needed </em>it to get in, so he didn’t lock his keys in his car. Good, Katrina would’ve been pissed. </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter squints, reaching deep into the recesses of his memory. Maybe he’d left them in his stage clothes by accident? He did have an impromptu jog out to his car during shooting. It was <em> important </em>, he’d decided to stop by that hip new Starbucks place for an Americano and mistakenly left it wedged on his cupholder. He most certainly was not about to waste the rush trying new food gave him. </p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head. He’s getting too caught up in semantics that don’t matter right now. <em> Keys, keys, keys. </em>Where in the hell did he last have his keys--</p><p> </p><p>It flicks on like a light bulb and suddenly Mr. Peanutbutter remembers, chuckling inwardly. His dressing room! Of course he’d left them in there, right next to his empty coffee cup and half eaten coffee cake from the snack table. He’d been in such a rush that he’d tossed them, not really thinking about it. Well, that solved that mystery. Mr. Peanutbutter smirks in triumph as he turns tail back down the corridor, head high as he follows the winding hallways back down to his dressing room. </p><p> </p><p>Just like his crystal clear memory had told him, there his keys were as he opened the door; sitting precariously on the edge of the end table and shining in all their glory. </p><p> </p><p>“You little buggers thought you could get away from me, huh?” Mr. Peanutbutter says quietly to himself, letting out a small laugh. “Nice try, but you gotta try a little harder next time.” </p><p> </p><p>There were a few things out of place, but the cleaning crew could get it all back in tip top shape by the next morning. Mr. Peanutbutter carefully closes the door, not wanting to get in the way of their expertise. He admired their attention to detail so much. Once, someone had even dusted the underside of his vanity mirror. Now <em> that </em>was dedication!</p><p> </p><p>Tangents roll through Mr. Peanutbutter’s mind like a film reel; they’re loud and distracting and just barely divert his attention from the creeping, amber light drifting from down the hall. He stops again, processing the direction the glow came from. No, Joelle’s dressing room was closer to the set, and she’d probably gone home by now. The twins’ mother definitely didn’t let the girls stay a single second past their scheduled shooting hours, so it couldn’t have been them. </p><p> </p><p>He thinks it might be Bojack, but he knows it’s unlikely. Bojack didn’t really stick around much after taping. The only feasible reason Mr. Peanutbutter can think of that would warrant him being here this late was that he’d fallen asleep in his dressing room, which wasn’t uncommon. Either way, he starts down the hall with a pep in his step. Bojack was his best friend around the building, after all. It wasn’t often that he’d be able to travel between sets to see him, but Mr. Peanutbutter knows he won’t mind chatting a bit before calling it a night. </p><p> </p><p>He rounds the corner and sees that glow creeping out from under the door, a smile spreading across his face. Bojack was definitely in, and he’d better get ready for a big bear hug to finish off the night-- </p><p> </p><p>“Funny seeing you around here! I--” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter freezes. </p><p> </p><p>Bojack was indeed in his dressing room. </p><p> </p><p>He was plopped on the leather sofa against the far wall, a fifth of hennessy in one hand and the other in his visible, bare crotch. He brings his head up from lolling back over his shoulders and makes direct eye contact with Mr. Peanutbutter; he’s clearly drunk and processing things slower than normal. Mr. Peanutbutter doesn’t know why else he wouldn’t have been tossed out by this point. </p><p> </p><p>Was this what anxiety felt like? Katrina complained about it sometimes, but he’d never felt so overwhelmed in his life. He’s grasping onto the doorknob for dear life and panting through his nose. Wait, crap--he was looking. Why the <em> hell </em>was he even still standing here--</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck are you staring for?” The words come out slightly slurred, but coherent. Bojack lazily tosses a throw pillow over his bare groin and slams the liquor bottle down on the end table. “The fuck is wrong with you?” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter starts stuttering. How the hell was he supposed to explain his way out of this one? He <em> was </em>staring. In his defense, however, he had quite a bit to stare at. </p><p> </p><p>He looks up and away, trying his best to avoid looking Bojack in the face. “Shit--I’m so sorry! I saw you were still here; I just wanted to have a bull session before turning in tonight, you know? I didn’t think you’d be--” He glances back down at Bojack’s suspicious eyes before looking back up. “You know, like....this--” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’ act like you’ve never jerked it in your dressing room, Peanutbutter.” Bojack says, rolling his eyes. “Shit locks from the inside. You got all the privacy to--” </p><p> </p><p>“Actually, I don’t think I have--” </p><p> </p><p>“‘S super easy, you should try it sometime, gives you a rush.” He continues, sitting back. “You got anything important to say to me or no?”</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter clears his throat, finally taking his eyes off the ceiling. “N—no. It can wait. I won’t keep you from, uh,” he gestures vaguely. “You know, doing that. I’ll make myself scarce. Carry on.”</p><p> </p><p>Just as he turns to walk out, Bojack scoffs. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter pauses. <em> What did he just say?  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p> </p><p> It leaves his mouth quicker than he can monitor his tone. Bojack smirks, picking the fifth back up. </p><p> </p><p>“What, now you don’ wanna look at me? Seems like you were really interested when I had my cock out—“ </p><p> </p><p>“Bojack—“ <em> Jesus. </em>“This is already enough of a disaster. I’ll see you tomorrow—“ </p><p> </p><p>“I always knew you were fuckin’ queer.” </p><p> </p><p>That makes Mr. Peanutbutter shut up. He turns to look back over his shoulder, nearly at a loss for words. </p><p> </p><p><em> “What </em>did you just say?”</p><p> </p><p>Bojack shrugs, and takes a swig. “Nothin’.” </p><p> </p><p>“Why would you think that?” Mr. Peanutbutter asks, almost concerned. <em> Is it that obvious?  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Feels like it.” The horse shrugs again, placing the bottle back down. “Besides, Princess Carolyn always had a feeling you were into me or somethin’—I never really read into it like that.” He lifts one leg up and props his foot up on the edge of the coffee table. “<em> But, </em>you’ve been staring at my dick ever since you invited yourself in.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter’s eyes dart away and he hears Bojack snicker loudly. “Come on. You gotta do better than that.” </p><p> </p><p>This is too much. Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t equip himself to deal with this level of embarrassment and he can’t charm his way out of it. He needs to <em> leave, </em>now. </p><p> </p><p>“I should go. Goodnight Bojack—“ </p><p> </p><p>“Oh cut the fucking bullshit, would you?” He snaps back. “If you wanted to leave you wouldn’t still be standing there, would you?” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter blinks. He doesn’t say anything. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I thought.” Bojack says, leaning back. He purposefully looks Mr. Peanutbutter in the eyes, testing the limits of just how well composed he is. “I won’ lie, The thought’s crossed my mind before.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter tenses. </p><p> </p><p>“....Really?” </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t have time to chastise himself for even entertaining this situation; Bojacks already nodding. </p><p> </p><p>“I know it’s crossed your mind too, right?” </p><p> </p><p>He’s dreaming. Mr. Peanutbutter’s dreaming and he knows it. There’s no way this could ever happen in his waking life, not in a million years, not in a <em> trillion y— </em></p><p> </p><p>“Seems like it.” Bojacks eyes cut downward and back up, a smug expression washing over his face. It takes a second for it to click, but the moment it does, Mr. Peanutbutter inadvertently shields his crotch with his hands. </p><p> </p><p>“‘S a little late for that now, don’t you think?” Bojack asks, a chuckle on his breath. He shakes his head and gives Mr. Peanutbutter another once over, his gaze stopping on the Labrador’s reddening face</p><p> </p><p>. “....Come over here.” </p><p> </p><p>“I really should just go—“ </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Peanutbutter.”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t aware someone’s voice could have such a visceral affect on him until this very moment. <em> God </em> , his voice was raspy from the Hennessy. Was it always that deep? It couldn’t have always been <em> that </em>deep—</p><p> </p><p>Just before Mr. Peanutbutter can get lost in his own maze of thoughts again, he sees Bojack’s hand move. It snakes up onto the dingy throw pillow in his lap and tosses it to the ground, leaving Mr. Peanutbutter exposed  to everything he’d seen the moment he’d stumbled in. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose and knows Bojack can hear it. There wasn’t any real use hiding, at this point. </p><p> </p><p>Drunken, lustful eyes stare back at him as Mr. Peanutbutter can’t help but watch as Bojack grips himself, languidly stroking without a care in the world. </p><p> </p><p>“...<em> Well?”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter swallows. He was already up to his waist in this mess of a situation. He knows deep down that he doesn't really <em> want </em>to backtrack, either.</p><p> </p><p>Bojack smirks as Mr. Peanutbutter drops his keys and kicks the door shut behind him. He walks over stiffly and stands awkwardly in front of Bojack’s seated form, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“...Are you just gonna stand there, or...?”</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter hesitates. “...What do you want me to do?” </p><p> </p><p>It’s a genuine question, but he immediately realizes how suggestive it comes off. Bojack raises an eyebrow and pauses for a second, processing Mr. Peanutbutter’s question. The silence only makes the labrador more anxious. </p><p> </p><p>“Get on your knees.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He watches as Bojack pushes the coffee table away with his foot, leaving just enough room for Mr. Peanutbutter to squeeze in front of him. The horse looks back up at him expectantly until he finally slowly sinks to his knees, swallowing heavily as he slowly becomes eye level with Bojack’s crotch. </p><p> </p><p><em> God, </em> he was big. Of course he was, Bojack wasn’t exactly notorious for being a saint around Hollywood. There had to be <em> some </em> reason women were practically breaking down his door to get in his pants. Mr. Peanutbutter wouldn’t lie and say he’d never thought about it. Actually, that was an understatement. He remembers seeing one particular episode of Horsin’ Around featuring Bojack in swim trunks and knows he spent nearly the rest of the day piecing together a mental image of his dick to save for later. It wasn’t one of his proudest moments, but <em> boy </em>was he off by a few inches-- </p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, don’t be shy.” Bojack slurs, reaching forward to stroke Mr. Peanutbutter’s cheek. “You know you want to.” </p><p> </p><p>He does want to, but he needs something to calm his nerves. He’d admittedly fantasized about this before, but actually being in the moment was an entirely different story. Mr. Peanutbutter’s eyes search around the room for the fifth Bojack had just moments ago. He spots it behind him on the coffee table and snatches it from its place, throwing back about two shots worth of Hennessey before setting it back down.</p><p> </p><p>He turns back to face Bojack and takes a deep breath, slowly replacing the hand on his cock with his own. Mr. Peanutbutter had done this before, but it had been a while, since before he married Katrina. He remembers the other guy really liking what he’d done, so he plays it safe and gives the base a long, controlled lap. Mr. Peanutbutter feels Bojack shudder a bit beneath him and decides that’s a good reaction, that meant he was enjoying it to some degree. He goes back in, licking a few wet stripes up the length of it. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Mmm.” </em></p><p> </p><p>He hears Bojack moan under his breath. He’s obviously going through some trouble to mask his noises. Mr. Peanutbutter can’t really blame him. He knows deep down that Bojack, despite how drunk he was, didn't really want to give Mr. Peanutbutter <em> too much </em>satisfaction. </p><p> </p><p>He’s stalling a bit, but he’s still mentally preparing himself to go down on Bojack. <em> Fuck, </em>this was really happening. He was about to give Bojack head, and he actually wanted him too. He’s still not fully convinced he’s awake. After all, he’d had a dream pretty similar to this before— </p><p> </p><p>“Stop teasing,” Bojack groans. “Put it in your mouth.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t anticipated just how much the gravely, demanding tone in Bojack’s voice was going to rile him up, but <em> God, </em> it was doing things to him. He can feel his erection pressed uncomfortably against his jeans and it’s begging to be freed. He needs to focus on the task at hand, however. <em> Come on, come on. Stop getting distracted.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter glances up at Bojack’s hungry eyes and bites the bullet. He takes a firm grip of his cock and slips the head in his mouth, testing himself before he swallows more than his jaw can handle. His other hand is on Bojack’s thigh and he feels the muscles go taught as a low groan escapes the horse’s mouth. It’s enough encouragement for Mr. Peanutbutter to go deeper, lowering his head until he’s got a fair amount nearly breaching the back of his throat. The noise Bojack makes is <em> astounding </em> and Mr. Peanutbutter needs to hear more of it.</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter picks up a steady rhythm, gradually feeling the alcohol begin to spread warmth through his chest. He sighs through his nose, leaning onto Bojacks lap and putting in a touch more expertise. It’s coming back to him now; he hollows his cheeks as he sucks, looking up at Bojack to see his reaction. The horse grits his teeth and wrenches his hand in Mr. Peanutbutter’s fur, involuntarily bucking his hips up to meet the labrador’s motions. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Fuck, </em>that’s it.” Bojack growls, tightening his grip. “Good boy.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter moans over his cock. <em> “Good boy”. </em> He knows two words shouldn’t do this much for him, but it nearly makes his eyes roll back in his head. It was so innocent yet so... <em> dirty. </em>It sends a shock wave of pleasure through Mr. Peanutbutter’s groin and he prays to God that this isn’t the last time he’ll get to hear him say it. </p><p> </p><p>Bojack smirks, an eyebrow cocking at the show in front of him. “You like that?” He asks breathlessly. “You like it when I tell you how good you’re doing?” </p><p> </p><p>Another moan escapes when Mr. Peanutbutter feels Bojack force his head a bit lower; deeper than he’d prepared himself for. He seizes and starts gagging; he coughs until Bojack finally pulls him back and he gasps for air, a stray string of saliva dripping down his chin. </p><p> </p><p>“Damn.”  </p><p> </p><p>Bojack studies Mr. Peanutbutter’s flushed face, drinking in his hanging jaw and dazed eyes. He looks up to him, almost as if he’s waiting for more direction. Bojack’s hand slips down and under Mr. Peanutbutter’s chin, running his thumb across his lower lip. </p><p> </p><p>“Such a good boy for me...” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter feels himself being gently nudged down and takes the hint. He takes Bojack’s cock back into his mouth and goes to work, fully fueled by the praise. He’s tipsy by this point and his work is a little less controlled. Mr. Peanutbutter can feel the saliva running down his face but Bojack’s clearly not complaining. He’s clenching his jaw and gripping couch cushion as his head hangs back over his shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter loves seeing Bojack like this. The way he’s trying so desperately to maintain control pumps up Mr. Peanutbutter’s ego so much he gets a little too eager. He hopes to God he won’t gag again and deepthroats Bojack again, sinking his fingers into the horses’ thighs. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Fuck! Peanutbutter!”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter looks up through watery eyes as Bojack cocks his head back up, meeting his gaze with a heaving chest. It’s too much. The sight of Mr. Peanutbutter’s punchdrunk expression and his wet lips around his cock is way too much. The sensation starts in his stomach and flourishes out through his abdomen as he grasps at Mr. Peanutbutter’s fur, grunting from the back of his throat. Bojack gives little to no warning as he comes, catching Mr. Peanutbutter off guard. Hot ropes of cum coat the inside of his mouth and he coughs as he pulls off, any drop that didn’t make in his throat spilling down his jaw. He takes a few deep breaths and wipes his mouth with his hand, looking wide eyed up at Bojack’s face. </p><p> </p><p>“....Um—“ Mr. Peanutbutter stutters. “Did I...did I do good?” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack manages to push through the fog of his post orgasm high and nods breathlessly. “You did good. <em> Really </em>...fucking good.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack looks like he’s on the edge of falling asleep. Mr. Peanutbutter’s not surprised, he’s fully aware of how much a good orgasm can sap someone’s energy away. He awkwardly climbs to his feet and clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you, um, need a ride home? You don’t look too good to drive—“ </p><p> </p><p>Bojack waves dismissively. “I’m takin’ a nap. I’ll be fine by the time I wake up.”</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter isn’t confident in the validity of that statement, but he’s not about to drag a twelve hundred pound horse all the way to the parking lot. Instead of protesting, he gives a small nod and brushes some invisible dirt off his shirt. </p><p> </p><p>“Sure. That should be fine.” He starts towards the door, glancing over his shoulder as he picks up his keys. “See you tomorrow?” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack’s already out. Loud snores tear through his chest and Mr. Peanutbutter sighs. He’d be fine; he really should just go home. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>That was what he did. He drove home while white-knuckling the steering wheel, still reeling from the fact that he’d given head to Bojack Horseman. </p><p> </p><p>Now, he still sat on his expensive velvet sofa, staring up at the ceiling trying to process his entire night. </p><p> </p><p>“....Holy shit.”  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter hasn’t interacted with Bojack all week and he feels like he’s losing his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d  anticipated that things were going to be awkward after that night, but not like this. At first, he’d thought maybe Bojack had just been taking fewer breaks in between takes. That would make sense. After all, they were both hard workers and prided themselves in that, he completely understood wanting to put in more time on set. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack’s avoidant behavior extended beyond work, however. Their shows typically finished taping around the same time if not for some random set back over the course of the day; Mr. Peanutbutter had expected to see him at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>once </span>
  </em>
  <span>so they could have a moment of privacy to talk. Apparently, he’d gravely underestimated just how far down in his mind Bojack could shove something he thought was a mistake. Given that Mr. Peanutbutter hadn’t even gotten so much as </span>
  <em>
    <span>eye contact </span>
  </em>
  <span>since that night, Bojack clearly had no interest in discussing this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter’s heart races when he sees a bright orange sweater pass by one of the exterior doorways, quickly and clearly in a rush. He makes up some excuse about his Americano latte going straight through him and darts off set, not caring about the irritated moans that erupt from the camera crew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter spots Bojack rounding the corner and follows after him, trying his best not to follow too closely. He doesn’t want to immediately notify him of his presence. He’d seen Bojack literally run away from his problems before, Mr. Peanutbutter knows he’s not above darting into his dressing room and pretending to be asleep until he goes away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Bojack’s listening to a walkman. He relaxes his calculated steps and puts more effort into chasing him down. Bojack was probably headed to his “secret” bathroom, it was hidden away from the main filming area and according to him had </span>
  <em>
    <span>excellent </span>
  </em>
  <span>ventilation. Out of respect for the sanctity of a private bathroom, Mr. Peanutbutter’s never used it. This was different, however. He’s not above disrupting Bojack’s peace if it means he can stop lying awake at night thinking about last week. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moment Bojack pushes open the bathroom door, Mr. Peanutbutter waits a few seconds to see it close behind him. Even though cornering him was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly </span>
  </em>
  <span>unfair move, he didn’t really care at this point. Mr. Peanutbutter pushes open the door to see Bojack leaning over the sink, fixing his bangs in the mirror and rocking to the DMX bleeding out of his headphones. Mr. Peanutbutter stands still for a moment. He’d replayed this encounter several times in his head, but actually being in the moment left his mind completely blank. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It only takes Bojack a few seconds to notice something standing in his peripheral vision. He slides his headphones down and turns to look with an initially very irritated expression. It melts away into horror the moment he sees Mr. Peanutbutter in front of the door, arms folded and his breathing visibly heavy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They both stare blankly at each other for what feels like hours. Mr. Peanutbutter shoves away the idea of waiting him out and clears his throat before speaking up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, judging by how mortified you look right now, I think it’s safe to assume you do remember what happened last week.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack snaps out of his daze. He immediately turns away, turning on the sink to wash away non existent dirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not doing this with you.” He says, not looking up. “I need to take a shit and I’d rather not do it with an audience.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going anywhere, Bojack.” Mr. Peanutbutter replies. “We need to talk.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What part of ‘I’m not doing this with you’ dont you understand?” He asks. “There’s nothing to talk about. What happened that night was a drunken mistake, and that’s all it’ll ever be.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter winces internally. It stung to hear.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding me? This isn’t something you can just shove away in your memory Bojack. I blew you in your dressing room for god’s sake! </span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>initiated that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was drunk.” Bojack replies plainly, a bit of annoyance in his voice. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t always think straight when I’m wasted.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You said you’d thought about it before.” Mr. Peanutbutter says, glowering. “The last time I checked, alcohol doesn’t make you </span>
  <em>
    <span>less </span>
  </em>
  <span>honest.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack pauses at that, staring up at his reflection before turning off the water. “What exactly are you trying to gain from this conversation?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter hesitates. He knows what he’s trying to gain, but he can’t find the right words. There’s no way for him to say it without embarrassing himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I...” he trails off. “I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really? Because you seem awfully expectant of something.” Bojack looks over, narrowing his eyes. “Did you forget that you’re married? You really want to come to me demanding something when you’re the one who made the choice to cheat on your wife?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That isn’t fair and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.</span>
  <em>
    <span>” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter  takes a step forward. “You—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bojack snaps back. “I know what I did and I already told you that it was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mistake. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nothing more, nothing less.” He dries his hands and starts towards him. “I’m done with this conversation. Get out of my way, I need to get back to set.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter doesn’t move. “You’re really gonna leave it at that?” He scoffs, leaning into his face. “You’re really deep in that fucking closet, aren’t you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack glares back, his jaw clenching in anger. “I said get the fuck out of my way.” He shoves Mr. Peanutbutter aside with more force than he’d anticipated. He goes stumbling into the nearest stall and bangs his shoulder. Mr. Peanutbutter swears and grasps it in pain, his back against the stall door as he looks at Bojack in disbelief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The horse doesn’t even look as he throws open the bathroom door and storms back down the hall, leaving Mr. Peanutbutter to process what just happened. He’d expected some resistance, but not like this. Bojack was angry, so angry that he’d gone out of his way to get his point across. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter’s fury settles down as the pain in his shoulder dissipates. He blinks a few times and goes over to the mirror, staring at himself for nearly a minute before taking a deep breath. He doesn’t know what other outcome this situation could’ve had. What he’d wanted to gain was unrealistic and impractical and the realization stings as it settles in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He collects himself and takes a deep breath before leaving the bathroom. He’d gotten the message. This was a mistake, and nothing else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s all it would ever be. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Im staring to formulate a plot so expect a few more updates. Thanks for reading my dudes.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I’ve been a bit busy so I didn’t find the time to reply individually to everyone, but I’m so glad y’all are enjoying this so far. The rest of this will be set in modern day, and is porn with plot as opposed to just a one shot. </p><p>Enjoy my dudes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The scent of garlic and oil wafts through Bojack’s bedroom despite the door being completely shut. It’s enough to wake him from his slumber; he blinks until his surroundings aren’t a kaleidoscope of browns and tans and sits up when his eyes fully adjust. </p><p> </p><p>He glances over at the clock. It’s barely eight in the morning and he rolls his eyes thinking about what on God’s green earth Mr. Peanutbutter is making now. </p><p> </p><p>Bojack knows that if he doesn’t get downstairs before he finishes cooking, Mr. Peanutbutter would invite himself into his room with whatever breakfast he’d made in hand. He’d smile that stupid toothy grin that he always did and shove the one of those fancy porcelain plates in his face, urging him to partake in some weird breakfast recipe that set employees had told him about. </p><p> </p><p>Bojack pulls himself out of bed and cracks a few stiff joints. He’s still not certain that he’s awaken enough to deal with Mr. Peanutbutter this early, but he doesn’t really have a choice. </p><p> </p><p>He slips on his robe and slinks out of the bedroom, rubbing remnants of sleep from his eyes while he tries not to stumble tiredly down the stairs. He’s slightly regretful that he doesn’t have a shift this morning, it meant Bojack would have trouble thinking of an excuse to bolt in the middle of breakfast and another one Mr. Peanutbutter’s usual tangents.</p><p> </p><p>Bojack makes his way into the kitchen and sees just what he’d expected. Mr. Peanutbutter’s leaning over the stove stirring garlic and onions around in sizzling, fragrant oil. Bojack notices two bowls of steaming white rice on the counter and already knows one of them is his. He sighs and takes a seat, reaching for the glass of orange juice Mr. Peanutbutter’s already poured for him.</p><p> </p><p>“So tell me, what convoluted breakfast recipe has one of your college student PA’s convinced you to make this time?” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter’s ears go up in surprise and he turns to look over his shoulder, panting through a wide smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Well good morning sunshine!” He replies brightly. “I didn’t even hear you come in.” </p><p> </p><p>“You seemed pretty focused on whatever you’re cooking over there.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter nods and turns back to the stove. “I am! Stephanie told me about these Korean breakfast bowls that her family made back at home, and lemme tell ya, the more details she gave me, the more my mouth was watering.” </p><p> </p><p>“Smells good.” Bojack says, taking another sip. “Well, stir fried garlic and onions usually smell good regardless.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re gonna love it. The first time I had it, I was like, ‘Holy cow! Why doesn’t everyone eat this for breakfast? It’s the <em> perfect </em>balance of protein, veggies, and carbs!’.” </p><p> </p><p>“You sound like an infomercial.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh believe me, If banchans needed a spokesperson, I’d sign in a heartbeat.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack chuckles under his breath and starts picking at the rice with his fork. Mornings with Mr. Peanutbutter were progressively becoming easier to deal with. He made a mental fuss about it often but frankly, his optimism was refreshing. Bojack wasn’t nearly as much of a nihilist as he’d been in past years, but he still had his days. At least with Mr. Peanutbutter, it wasn’t the <em> entire </em> day. </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter eventually turns off the stove and brings two pans over to the counter, dumping the vegetables into both their bowls while quickly following up with two sunny side up eggs. He enthusiastically reaches into the pocket of his apron and takes out two pairs of chopsticks, handing one to Bojack as he sits down.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh God, I’m not good with these.” Bojack looks at them hesitantly. “Can I just get a fork?” </p><p> </p><p>“Well of course, but you might not get the full experience though—“ </p><p> </p><p>“That’s fine.” Bojack cuts him off. “Without a fork I'm not gonna experience it at all.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter shrugs and reaches for a fork on the countertop behind him. “As you wish.” </p><p> </p><p>It’s incredibly good to Bojack’s surprise. He’d never personally cared for runny eggs, but it went well with all the other flavors packed into the bowl. He’s having trouble stopping himself from devouring the entire thing in two minutes flat, but he paces himself. He doesn’t need indigestion this early in the morning. </p><p> </p><p>“So,” Mr. Peanutbutter starts, swallowing a bite of food. “Anything interesting happening for you today?”</p><p> </p><p>Bojack shakes his head. “You ask me this every morning and ninety five percent of the time my answer is the same. No, there isn’t.” </p><p> </p><p>“Well who knows if today is part of that five percent? Your Cinnabunny <em> is </em>in an airport. You might see something crazy step out of one of those gates.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well, I’d prefer the crazy stay away from Cinnabunny.” Bojack says, stabbing an onion with his fork. “Luckily Maude helps me keep my anger at a reasonable level. The last time I worked without her I almost got written up for snapping on Hillary Duck.” He scoffs. “Everyone pays a dollar extra for oat milk. I’m not gonna wave your fee just cause you spent your adolescence wasting away under Disney’s left nut.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter chuckles. “You know, it is so great that Maude helped you get a part time job there. I know how difficult finding work is when you’re a convicted felon.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack narrows his eyes. “Thanks for reminding me.” </p><p> </p><p>“Sure thing.” Mr. Peanutbutter replies. “What time is your shift?” </p><p> </p><p>“Three. I’m closing again because the scheduling manager hates me.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh don’t be dramatic. I’m sure she doesn’t.” </p><p> </p><p>“She’s told me to my face that she ‘isn’t fond of lads like me’.” He sips his juice. “She’s Scottish.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ooh, exotic.” Mr. Peanutbutter points with his fork. “I like that.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack rolls his eyes and picks at the last few bits of rice and egg in the bottom of his bowl. Considering the fact that he’d spent half his life living in luxury, having to work a minimum wage job wasn’t ideal. It was more so he’d have <em> some </em>spending money, and the fact that he’d been bored as hell sitting around the house all day. Mr. Peanutbutter wasn’t charging him any rent for living there, and Princess Carolyn made it very clear over and over again how grateful he should be for that. </p><p> </p><p>“You know, there’s this new Thai-Guatemalan fusion place downtown that I’m dying to try.” Mr. Peanutbutter says. “Wanna grab lunch before work?” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack eyes dart away. “Uh, I’d love to, but I kinda wanna get more sleep before my shift. I need all the energy I can get to deal with the bullshit on the horizon.”</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter initially looks a bit disappointed, but he masks it with a smile. “I totally get you. Fuel up all you need.”</p><p> </p><p>They don’t sit much longer. By the time Mr. Peanutbutter finishes his bowl, Bojack’s already rinsing his in the sink. He’s not sure what he’ll do in between now and work besides sleep, but he knows for sure he can’t take watching anymore daytime T.V. Maury shouldn’t and had no reason to still be airing, but alas, here they were. </p><p> </p><p>Bojack says his goodbyes and heads back up the stairs, rubbing his eyes. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to get a head start on that pre-work nap. </p><p> </p><p>——————————</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, give it a shot.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack looks up from the spilled espresso he’s wiping off the counter and over at Maude. She’s holding a twenty ounce cup of....something? He can’t really tell what it is and he immediately feels his stomach drop. He knows where this is going. </p><p> </p><p>“Maude, I hate this game and you know it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh <em> come on. </em>It’s fun!” She says, holding out the drink with a smile. “I promise I didn’t put anything gross in it this time. Besides, ‘Guess That Drink’ is the most interesting thing we’re gonna do all day and you know it.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack narrows his eyes and looks between Maude and the cup. She’s right, but he doesn’t wanna admit it. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine.” He replies, taking it from her. “‘Ambiguously brown’ is one of my favorite flavors anyway.” </p><p> </p><p>Maude snickers as Bojack takes an apprehensive sip; he smacks his lips and focuses on nothing in particular, searching his brain to discern what flavors he’s picking up on.</p><p> </p><p>“I taste....white chocolate mocha...” </p><p> </p><p>“Mhmm,” Maude nods. “That’s one out of three.” </p><p> </p><p>He sips again. “Espresso...and...” he furrows his brows. “Did you put a cinnabon in this or something?” </p><p> </p><p>“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!” She gives a few claps. “Good job, I thought you would guess cinnamon syrup.” </p><p> </p><p>“Believe me Maude, I’ve stuffed enough stolen cinnabons in my face to recognize that flavor anywhere.” He takes a few more sips and sets it down in the mini fridge below the counter. “This is kind of good though. I’ll hold on to it for later.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re welcome.” Maude says, going over to the bakery display. “Want any of the pretzel dogs before I toss them?” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack waves. “I shouldn’t. This drink is probably a thousand calories by itself.” </p><p> </p><p>“You sure?” </p><p> </p><p>He pauses. “Save <em> one </em>for me. I’ll have it tomorrow.” </p><p> </p><p>“Sure thing.” Maude says, packing one away in a take away container. “I hate seeing all this stuff go to waste.” </p><p> </p><p>“Me too but, that’s corporate America for you.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah. I know.” She dumps the rest in the trash. “Did you hear Ed Sheeran came through yesterday? According to Mimi he’s pretty rough looking up close.” </p><p> </p><p>“Well that’s mean.” </p><p> </p><p>“Her words, not mine.” Maude says. “I personally think he looks pretty average. Definitely not my type but, maybe if I was a sixteen year old girl or something it’d be different.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack shrugs. “I wouldn’t really know anyway.” </p><p> </p><p>She looks up. “How do you mean?” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not into men. I don’t really know what the metric is for determining how attractive a guy is.” </p><p> </p><p>Maude looks at him incredulously, pausing what she’s doing. “Wait, what?” </p><p> </p><p>“I said I’m not into men, so—“ </p><p> </p><p>“That’s not the part I’m confused about.” She interrupts. “Are you saying you really don’t know how to discern if a guy is attractive or not?” </p><p> </p><p>“...Not really? I mean, I can recognize the extremes but not much in between.” </p><p> </p><p>She turns towards him and places her hands on her hips, staring at him in disbelief. “You’re shitting me, right?” </p><p> </p><p>“How is that hard to believe?” </p><p> </p><p>“You realize how batshit crazy that sounds?” Maude asserts. “Do you not have functioning eyes? You think you have to be attracted to men to be able to differentiate <em> basic </em>things like that?” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off before he can speak. </p><p> </p><p>“Actually, I do find that second part hard to believe too. I think everyone’s just a <em> little </em>gay deep down.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack scoffs. “<em> Excuse me?”  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Everyone’s just a little gay.” She repeats. “Even if that little bit is like, .00001% percent. Everyone’s had that moment where they looked at someone of their gender and been like, ‘Damn, I’d hit that’.” </p><p> </p><p>“I think that’s a pretty broad stroke to paint across everyone.” Bojack argues, raising an eyebrow. “You think Todd’s had that kind of moment before?” </p><p> </p><p>“Bojack, Todd once went into very excruciating detail about how he blew his plug for weed in high school.” </p><p> </p><p>He grimaces. “Didn’t need that mental image in my head but it’s there now. Thanks for that.” </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t either, but here we are.” She folds her arms across her chest. “You’ve never had a gay moment?” </p><p> </p><p>“No.” </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Never?”  </em></p><p> </p><p>“I—“ He pauses for a few seconds. “No, I haven’t.” </p><p> </p><p>“You hesitated.” </p><p> </p><p>“No I didn’t.” </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Yes, </em>you did.” </p><p> </p><p>“That doesn’t mean anything.” </p><p> </p><p>“I think it does.” Maude raises an eyebrow. “What happened?”</p><p> </p><p>Bojack turns away, clearly not wanting to go into detail. “It was in the nineties. It happened a long time ago and doesn’t matter at this point.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ominous, but I’ll take it.” She says. “But you <em> had </em>a gay moment. That’s the important thing.” She smiles triumphantly. “My theory is still correct.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack’s a bit anxious at this point. He starts fidgeting with the stack of plastic lids underneath the counter and tries to find anything to distract himself from the memory that’s just surfaced in his brain. Maude was still looking at him though, and he knows he looks like he has something to hide. He needs to take control of this conversation before it steers further in a direction he doesn’t want.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, fine. Ed Sheeran isn’t awful looking,” he finally says, looking back over “But I’m biased. I’m not really into sheep.” </p><p> </p><p>Maude cocks her head, a smirk creeping across her face. “Isn’t that a little racist?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh god, is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, I’m just fucking with you.” She replies. ”Although I would be careful not to let that slip around Mimi. Her stepmom is a sheep.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not looking to bang anyone’s step mom anytime soon, so I’ll say what I want.” Bojack replies. “Besides, the last time I worked with Mimi she left me alone with a ten person line to go smoke outside. Fuck her.” </p><p> </p><p>Maude takes a step closer, leaning back on the counter as she nods. “Honestly, yeah. She does kinda suck, doesn’t she?” </p><p> </p><p>“I’d rather work with a propped up broom stick with an apron on.” </p><p> </p><p>She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Alright, on that note I’m gonna go do temps. I know how much you hate doing them.” </p><p> </p><p>“I hate unnecessarily tedious and pointless work so, go right ahead. Knock yourself out.” </p><p> </p><p>Maude gives a nod and fishes a spiral bound notebook out from under the counter. She spends a few seconds glancing around the line before walking into the back kitchen, presumably to try and locate a thermometer. Bojack takes a deep breath and pulls his phone out of his pocket, clicking on the screen to check the time. </p><p> </p><p>6:07 PM </p><p> </p><p>He groans and tucks his phone away. He has four more hours to go and needs to find a way to occupy his time. </p><p> </p><p>He notices the takeaway container still sitting on the counter and thinks for a moment. Eating was a way to occupy time, right?</p><p> </p><p>He decides the answer is yes and takes the pretzel dog aside, moving slightly out of any possible customer’s line of sight. He’d finish this snack and <em> then </em>he’d get to work. It wasn’t as if he was rushing to get back home, anyway. </p><p> </p><p>———————————</p><p> </p><p>Bojack trudges into the house around 11:30. It would’ve been 11:15, but he’d spent the last fifteen minutes turning his car upside down looking for his house keys. He keeps telling himself he should just <em> put it </em>with the ones for his car because he does this nearly every night, but still he somehow never gets around to it. </p><p> </p><p>When he does get in, he realizes he’s not going to be able to just slink into bed with the way his stomach is growling. He’d had that pretzel dog over five hours ago and it was naive of him to think that could ever satiate him, a twelve-hundred pound horse. </p><p> </p><p>Bojack makes his way into the kitchen and immediately starts rummaging around in the cabinets. This was one of the many annoying things about living with Mr. Peanutbutter. The man never kept snacks in the house. And by snacks, Bojack meant <em> real </em>snacks. He meant Oreos and kettle chips and soda, not luna bars and packets of protein shake powder. </p><p> </p><p>He <em> thinks </em>he may have hidden a hostess cake in the back of the pantry a little while ago. Well, more than a little. Those things were loaded with preservatives anyway, a month or two was probably a more than fine amount to keep junk food like that. </p><p> </p><p>After about five minutes, he finally finds it behind a mason jar filled with trail mix in the back of the pantry. Bojack lets out a deep, satisfied groan as he ravenously tears the plastic off, seconds away from shoving the entire thing in his mouth in one bite. </p><p> </p><p>“Welcome home BJ!” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack yells. He drops the cake in surprise and his eyes dart around the dark kitchen, looking for Mr. Peanutbutter anywhere in his field of vision. He finally makes out his figure walking in through the dining room; Mr. Peanutbutter flicks on the light switch by the doorway and pops his head in, grinning from ear to ear. </p><p> </p><p>“How was work, big guy?” He asks, walking into the room. “Any big names come through today? I thought I heard Tiger Woods was flying in for a tournament today--” </p><p> </p><p>“No.” Bojack says plainly, discreetly kicking the hostess cake under the counter. “No one remarkable came through. It was just another regular, shitty, long day.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter nods. “Well, you do look a little worn out.” </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks.” Bojack answers sarcastically. “I’m going to bed soon actually--” </p><p> </p><p>“You know what? I don’t think it was Tiger Woods,” Mr. Peanutbutter interrupts, stroking his chin. “It might’ve been <em> Elijah </em> Woods. I’m not sure. One of the stylists on set was telling me but I was so preoccupied with this <em> delicious </em>lox bagel that I might’ve misheard her--” </p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Peanutbutter, can we not do this?” BJ asks, rubbing his temples. “I just told you that I had a very long, very exhausting day. I’m really not in the mood to chit chat right now.”  </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter blinks before nodding. “Of course, I totally get it. You’ve gotta take care of yourself sometimes, you know?” He responds. “Have you ever considered a self-care day? I downloaded Pinterest recently and there’s <em> loads </em>of ideas on there to pamper yourself--” </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Mr. Peanutbutter.” </em> Bojack grits through his teeth. “Please, <em> shut up.”  </em></p><p> </p><p>The message finally seems to get through to him. Mr. Peanutbutter timidly closes his mouth and clears his throat. “Sorry.” He says. “If I had realized you were gonna be so cranky after work, I would’ve spared you the bull session.” </p><p> </p><p>“‘Cranky’? I’m not cranky.” Bojack snaps back. “I’m <em> tired. </em>I just spent the last seven hours on my feet making drinks for a bunch of ungrateful middle aged women and their even more ungrateful teenage daughters. I just want to go to bed.” </p><p> </p><p>“I said I was sorry--” </p><p> </p><p>“Then <em> act </em>like it.” Bojack says lowly. “Let me eat my twinkie in peace.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter’s hurt expression quickly melts into one of irritation. He steps a bit further into the kitchen and narrows his eyes at Bojack, placing his hands on his hips. </p><p> </p><p>“You know, I understand how tiring your job can be, but there’s no reason to be a jackass about it.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack looks over, his eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m just trying to help, Bojack!” Mr. Peanutbutter exclaims, leaning in. “Saying, ‘Hey Mr. Peanutbutter, I’m a little tuckered out after work today, maybe we could talk tomorrow’, would’ve sufficed!” He says. “You don’t have to be so rude about it. I can take a hint.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack scoffs. “Doesn’t seem like it.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter glares at him; his eyes stare daggers into the side of Bojack’s head. “You know, I didn’t <em> have </em>to let you live here. But I did because I care about you, and I just wanted to help--” </p><p> </p><p>“Are you kidding me? You’re using <em> that </em> leverage?” He asks in disbelief. “And <em> I’m </em>the jackass?” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter takes another step closer, not caring if he invades Bojack’s personal space. “Yeah, you <em> are. </em>” He repeats. “Oh sorry, I know you’ve always had a little bit of trouble getting that through that thick skull of yours.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, fuck off!” </p><p> </p><p>“No, <em> you </em>fuck off!” </p><p> </p><p>It takes Bojack a moment to process what happens next. He goes stumbling back a few steps and nearly trips over the bar stool behind him. The second he regains his balance and looks over at Mr. Peanutbutter, he growls, bearing his teeth. </p><p> </p><p>“Did you just fucking <em> shove </em>me?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I did.” Mr. Peanutbutter replies. “What are you gonna do about it?” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack storms over to him, refusing to let Mr. Peanutbutter have the upperhand any longer. He takes a hold of his shoulders and shoves him backward into the fridge, earning a loud grunt in response as his back collides with the metal. Bojack pins him against the door, holding him in place as he leans into Mr. Peanutbutter’s face. </p><p> </p><p>“What happened, huh?” Bojack taunts. “You were all big and bad just a second ago!” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter grits his teeth and struggles under his grip. “Get off of me you asshole!” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack growls through his teeth. “<em> Make me.”  </em></p><p> </p><p>It isn’t that difficult to keep Mr. Peanutbutter in place. He’s larger and stronger than him given their anatomy alone. Mr. Peanutbutter tries his hardest to twist out of Bojack’s grasp, but it’s nearly impossible. He’s wasting more energy fighting him than it’s worth and Bojack knows Mr. Peanutbutter would give up eventually. </p><p> </p><p>Their gazes meet; Mr. Peanutbutter pants and intensely studies Bojack’s face. He squints, trying to figure out what on Earth is going through Mr. Peanutbutter’s head. His expression is growing less and less worked up by the second and he can’t tell why the hell Mr. Peanutbutter’s eyes keep darting around his face. </p><p> </p><p>He was especially focused on...his mouth? </p><p> </p><p>The thought is fleeting because before Bojack can even process it, he’s being yanked forward by the collar of his shirt. He flails and falls straight Mr. Peanutbutter’s chest; one hand grips his collar and the other takes a firm hold of his chin, guiding his lips to crash against Mr. Peanutbutter’s. </p><p> </p><p>Bojack seizes up; he can barely even comprehend what’s happening. Mr. Peanutbutter’s kissing him and kissing him very <em> aggressively </em>at that. Purely out of instinct, Bojack returns it at first. The second he actually figures out what the hell is going on, he’s already given Mr. Peanutbutter way too much encouragement. Mr. Peanutbutter tilts his head and leans further into the kiss, slipping his tongue into Bojack’s unsuspecting mouth. </p><p> </p><p>Bojack recoils and finally gathers enough sense to pull away, gasping for air and staring at him with wide, shocked eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“What the <em> fuck, </em>Mr. Peanutbutter?!” </p><p> </p><p>A look of horror washes over Mr. Peanutbutter’s face. “Oh crap.” He says. “Wait, was I totally misreading this situation?” </p><p> </p><p>“Why the hell did you kiss me?!” Bojack exclaims. “What in the world compelled you to do that?!” </p><p> </p><p>“I--I don’t know! I thought that’s where this was going!” Mr. Peanutbutter says back. “You got in my face!” </p><p> </p><p>“So you decided to kiss me?!” </p><p> </p><p>“You were looking at my lips!” </p><p> </p><p>“I--” Bojack stutters. “You were doing it to me first!” </p><p> </p><p>“You had me pinned against the fridge, for God’s sake!” Mr. Peanutbutter blurts out. “Come on! Don’t act like it wasn’t hot.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack furrows his brows. “I’m sorry, <em> what </em> did you just say?<em>”  </em></p><p> </p><p>For a second, Mr. Peanutbutter looks as if he’s about to bite his tongue. The apprehension quickly melts away and he clears his throat, firmly folding his arms across his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t play dumb, Bojack. I said it was hot. You pinning me against the fridge, was really, really <em>hot.”  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” He starts. “Are you saying that turned you on?” </p><p> </p><p>“Of course it turned me on, Bojack! I thought you were doing all that on purpose!” Mr. Peanutbutter snaps “Apparently, I may have...misinterpreted it.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack wants to kick himself at how long it takes for everything to compute in his head. Mr. Peanutbutter wanted to kiss him. He thought that Bojack was actually <em> trying </em>to be rough with him as a means of initiating something. It still doesn’t completely make sense. Mr. Peanutbutter’s clearly growing more and more anxious with the situation and takes a step back, guiltily looking away. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry.” He apologizes. “That was really inappropriate. Let’s just forget any of that ever happened—“ </p><p> </p><p>“Wait, no.” Bojack cuts him off, staring directly into his eyes. “Are you...are you attracted to me?”</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter’s lips tighten into a straight line. He looks as if he’s trying to figure out what to say but can’t quite find the words. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he gives a small nod, not looking directly at Bojack as he does. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course I am.” He answers. “I have been since we met. I thought it was obvious.”</p><p> </p><p>Bojack stares in stunned silence as he continues.</p><p> </p><p>“You made it clear you never felt the same way though, so eventually I just let it go.” </p><p> </p><p>“...Even when you were married to Diane?” </p><p> </p><p>It takes a second, but he nods. “I mean, of course I loved and cherished Diane but, I won’t lie and say I didn’t still think about you often.” </p><p> </p><p>“...How often?” </p><p> </p><p>“...Every time I saw you.” Mr. Peanutbutter replies. “A lot of times when I didn’t, too.” </p><p> </p><p>This was too much to take in. Bojack doesn’t know how he’d been so oblivious all this time. Of course Mr. Peanutbutter was into him. He was right, it was obvious. Bojack thinks back about their entire relationship through this new, strange lense and realizes he had to have been an absolute idiot not to see that Mr. Peanutbutter had feelings for him. Despite his clear reluctance in ever maintaining a friendship with him, Mr. Peanutbutter still persisted. He was still here after everyone else pushed him away. </p><p> </p><p>It all made sense. </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter’s still standing awkwardly in front of him. His heart is racing thinking about what Bojack’s about to say to him. He just fucked all of this up and he knows it. He’d ruined everything and it was all his fault. How could he do something so goddamn stupid—</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Peanutbutter,” </p><p> </p><p>He looks up. “What?” </p><p> </p><p>“Come here.” </p><p> </p><p>“...You want me to?” </p><p> </p><p>“Would I be asking if I didn’t want you to?” </p><p> </p><p>That was a stupid question to ask. Mr. Peanutbutter inhales through his nose and approaches Bojack as closely as he deems appropriate. To his surprise, Bojack takes a few steps closer, concentrating hard on Mr. Peanutbutter’s face. </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter goes still when he feels a thumb and curled finger against his chin. Bojack slowly lifts his face and leans in, pressing his lips against Mr. Peanutbutter’s again. At first, he has nearly the same reaction that Bojack had. He’s in complete shock that this is happening and especially that <em> Bojack’s </em>the one initiating it this time. His confusion quickly deteriorates into something else when Bojack starts kissing him harder; he cant just sit there and waste this time trying to digest what’s was going on. </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter snaps out of his trance. His eyes slowly fall closed and he starts returning Bojack’s ministrations. He tries to slip his tongue past his lips again and Bojack lets it happen this time, tilting his head opposite Mr. Peanutbutter’s to gain easier access.</p><p> </p><p>It’s intoxicating. Mr. Peanutbutter lets out a deep sigh as his arms snake up around Bojack’s neck, deepening their embrace as much as possible. </p><p> </p><p>For what feel like hours, they stand there in the middle of the kitchen, making out with ever intensifying fervor and need. Bojack’s hands find purchase on Mr. Peanutbutter’s waist and he finally pulls away, completely at a loss for words. Mr. Peanutbutter stands in silence, clearly waiting for Bojack to say something before he does. </p><p> </p><p>“...Fuck.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter blinks at him. “Why did you do that?” </p><p> </p><p>“I wanted to see if...” he trails off. “I wanted to see if I would enjoy it.” </p><p> </p><p>“...And?” </p><p> </p><p>“...I did.” Bojack responds. “A lot.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter finally cracks the smallest smile. “Me too.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack backs up a few steps and takes a seat on one of the barstools by the island, his eyes wide and staring at the floor. “Wow.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack looks as if he still needs some time to process everything. Mr. Peanutbutter decides to take a seat next to him, clearing his throat before speaking up again. </p><p> </p><p>“Bojack?” </p><p> </p><p>He looks up. “Yeah?” </p><p> </p><p>“Can I ask you a question?” </p><p> </p><p>“...Sure.” </p><p> </p><p>“Did you ever think about that night again?” </p><p> </p><p>He knows what Mr. Peanutbutter’s referring to and tenses. He’d shoved that memory away so deep in his subconscious that he had to dig just to remember it in detail at this point. Despite the fogginess, he knows the answer to Mr. Peanutbutter’s question. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I did. For a while, actually.” He replies. “You were right, I did know what I was doing. I may have been drunk, but I wasn’t completely unaware of the choice I was making.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter listens as he continues. “I just...I wasn’t ready to deal with the repercussions of it. I didn’t <em> want </em>to. You were married, I was in the peak of my career. All that shit that ended up happening with Herb.” He looks over at him. “I’m sorry. That was a really, really shitty thing to do to you. Especially knowing what I know now.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter doesn’t look angry or resentful of him. If anything, he looks relieved. He places a hand on Bojack’s back and smiles warmly, his face completely relaxed.  </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that.” He says. “I get it. It would’ve been a lot to deal with at the time. I don’t blame you to be honest.” </p><p> </p><p>“Really?” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, maybe a little bit.” Mr. Peanutbutter jests. “But there’s no hard feelings.” </p><p> </p><p>They both chuckle quietly. Bojack rubs the back of his neck and Mr. Peanutbutter starts stroking his back a bit, as he continues. </p><p> </p><p>“So, how ya feeling?” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack inhales through his nose. “I’m still taking everything in but, overall? I feel...I feel really good.” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s great.” Mr. Peanutbutter replies. “Does that mean you’d be open to...y’know. Maybe doing this kind of thing again sometime?” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack takes a few seconds to think about it, but eventually he nods, meeting Mr. Peanutbutter’s tender gaze. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I think it does.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>PS, I’ve been thinking about making a PB/Bojack server if anyone’s interested. It’d be dope to chat about this ship with peeps if anyone would be down. Thanks for reading my dudes.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next few days are interesting, to say the least. </p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t happen every night, but over the course of a week or so, Bojack finds himself wandering into Mr. Peanutbutter’s room every so often. Between both their work schedules, they saw each other fairly often, but definitely not everyday. He’s not sure what’s compelling him to actually <em> want </em> to spend more of his free time with Mr. Peanutbutter, but he’s confused about a lot of things right now. The only thing he really can trust is his gut. At least gave him <em> some </em>idea of what he wanted. </p><p> </p><p>Bojack spends one particularly long evening waiting for Mr. Peanutbutter to get home. He typically didn’t have a lot of nights he didn’t work and usually spent it enjoying every second of solitude he could possibly get. He finds himself more antsy than usual that night. He tries sitting in front of the TV for a few hours flipping mindlessly through whatever streaming program Mr. Peanutbutter had an account with. He can only stand so many episodes of <em> House </em>before he turns off the TV and lays back on the couch, his eyes fixated on the cracks in the ceiling. </p><p> </p><p>He’s not used to this and doesn’t really know how to unpack this new set of emotions. To be frank, he’s not even sure <em> what </em>they are. The only thing he does know is that Maude may have been more accurate in her theory than he’d first thought. He definitely felt something for Mr. Peanutbutter. What exactly it was he didn’t know, but there really only was one way to find out. </p><p> </p><p>———</p><p> </p><p>Bojack awakes one night to the feeling of weight shifting around his bed. It’s slightly difficult to see through the haze of sleep hanging around his head, but he realizes what it is once a pair of arms slip around his waist. </p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Peanutbutter?” Bojack looks over his shoulder, blinking until his vision becomes clear. “What are you—“ </p><p> </p><p>“Couldn’t sleep.” He replies. There’s a hint of exhaustion in his voice and a drowsy look in his eye. “Is it alright if I stay here?” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s a little late to ask.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you’re right, but—“</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine.” He says. “Just try not to snore too loud this time. It’s like sleeping next to a jet engine.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll lie on my side.” Mr. Peanutbutter says “Apparently, according to WebMD, snoring gets significantly worse if you lie on your back—“ </p><p> </p><p>“Uh-huh. Tell me more about it in the morning.” Bojack turns back over. “Anything you say to me right now’s going in one ear and out the other.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I read you loud and clear.” Mr. Peanutbutter yawns. “Sweet dreams.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack lets out an unintelligible groan before settling back into bed. After about ten minutes, he can hear Mr. Peanutbutter <em> lightly </em>snoring and breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe he was actually right about laying in his side. He’s too tired to give a shit right now, however. Bojack pulls the duvet back over his shoulders and closes his eyes expecting to drift right back into a deep, nearly catatonic slumber. </p><p> </p><p>Except he doesn’t.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t know what in the world it is that keeps him awake, but Bojack spends the next hour tossing and turning; shifting onto his back and then onto his stomach. He gets up and gets a glass of water from the bathroom and chugs it, thinking maybe he’s just a little dehydrated. It helps to no avail. He sits in the edge of the bed irritably rubbing his temples before deciding to lie back down, turning over to face Mr. Peanutbutter.</p><p> </p><p>That lucky bastard. How the hell he’d managed to singlehandedly suck the sleepiness right out of Bojack’s body, he had no idea. Who the hell slept with a smile, anyway? It’s bullshit and Bojack stares intensely at him, wondering how he got it so good tonight. </p><p> </p><p>Almost on cue, Mr. Peanutbutter shifts onto his back and his jaw hangs open. It only takes a few seconds for an obscenely loud snore to tear through his chest, practically shaking the room with it’s intensity. Bojack grimaces. Any chance he had of getting back to sleep anytime soon had just been thrown out the window. </p><p> </p><p>He lies there for about two minutes before the sound of Mr. Peanutbutter’s snoring is too much to bear. Bojack reaches over and grabs Mr. Peanutbutter’s shoulder, shaking him roughly until he sputters awake. </p><p> </p><p>“Wh—huh?” He sits up. “What happened?” </p><p> </p><p>“You flipped onto your back.” Bojack says lowly, side eyeing him. “I already can’t fall back asleep for some god forsaken reason. You’ve gotta figure out a way to stay on your side or you’re getting formally evicted from this room.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter puts his hands up. “Crap, I’m sorry. Let me think.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not a big deal, I just—“ </p><p> </p><p>“Hold on,” his face shifts from concern to intrigue. “I think I have an idea.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh God.” Bojack says. “That sentence never ends well.”</p><p> </p><p>“Relax, big guy! It’s nothing crazy, I promise.” Mr. Peanutbutter assures him. “Don’t you worry that handsome little head of yours.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack’s not convinced, but he agrees to avoid a pointless debate. Mr. Peanutbutter lies down and shifts across the bed, scooting further and further backward until his back is pressed against Bojack’s chest. At first, Bojack freezes, not quite sure how to respond. Mr. Peanutbutter persists, bringing Bojack’s arm over his side and settling into his hold. </p><p> </p><p>“See?” He asks. “This way if I try and roll over, you’re right there to swoop in and save the day.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh—“ Bojack stutters a bit before figuring out what to say. “Um, yeah. Sure. This is fine, I guess.”  </p><p> </p><p>“It’s foolproof. There’s absolutely no way this could possibly go wrong.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack’s still getting used to having this sort of relationship with Mr. Peanutbutter. Surprisingly, he’s not completely thrown by the current situation. Was cuddling with Mr. Peanutbutter still really foreign to him? Incredibly. Did he have any desire to pull away? </p><p> </p><p>No. Not at all, truthfully. </p><p> </p><p>They stay like that for a while. Bojack feels himself becoming more and more relaxed as he holds Mr. Peanutbutter in place. On top of everything, Mr. Peanutbutter is actually fairly warm. Bojack finds himself settling comfortably into his back and actually relaxing enough to feel drowsy. It’s pleasant and he’s enjoying this more than he’d expected. </p><p> </p><p>“...Hey, Bojack?” </p><p> </p><p>He opens his eyes and clears his throat. “Yeah?” </p><p> </p><p>“Random question, but on a scale from, let’s say one to ten, how tired would you say you are?” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack furrows his brows. “Why?” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter doesn’t reply. He takes hold of Bojack’s hand and slowly guides it lower and lower, stopping when it reaches just between his thighs. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” </p><p> </p><p>The hesitation in Bojack’s voice gives Mr. Peanutbutter pause. He freezes and glances back over his shoulder. “Unless you’re not up to it tonight—“ </p><p> </p><p>“Well, I mean, my hand’s already on your di—“ </p><p> </p><p>“Am I being too forward this time? I really should’ve asked first, shouldn’t I?” Mr. Peanutbutter scoffs. “God, what is it with me lately?” </p><p> </p><p>“PB—“ </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t just go around getting in random people’s beds! I don’t even know what your boundaries are yet and I already feel like I’m breaking them—“ </p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Peanutbutter!” </p><p> </p><p>He stops, looking over his shoulder again. Bojack roughly pulls Mr. Peanutbutter in closer, holding him in place as he takes hold of his cock. Bojack swears he feels him tremble. He leans in, making it a point to speak as lowly and gravely as he can muster. </p><p> </p><p>“You shouldn’t  start something you don’t wanna finish.” </p><p> </p><p>“Who said I didn’t wanna finish—<em> ohh—“  </em></p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter tenses up, his head rocking back Bojack grips him harder through his lounge pants. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you not wearing boxers?” Mr. Peanutbutter nods and Bojack scoffs. “You planned this, didnt you?” </p><p> </p><p>“Somewhat—“ He says between groans. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be—<em> nngn— </em>too tired—-“ </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know why I’m surprised.” Bojack says, trying to find a comfortable way to wrap his arm around Mr. Peanutbutter. “Jesus. How long have you been hard like this?” </p><p> </p><p>“Not <em> too </em>long. It’s just, y’know, with you this close to me and all,” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s really all it takes?” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, yeah.” He admits. “Sometimes the mind starts...wandering<em> .”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Bojack raises an eyebrow. “Wandering?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, like when you’re driving down some residential street and you see a mail truck drive by, and all of a sudden you’re barreling over the median and into someone’s driveway—<em> ahh—“  </em></p><p> </p><p>Bojack slides the waistband of Mr. Peanutbutter’s pants over his hips and takes hold of his cock, stroking him at an agonizingly slow pace. “Wandering where?” </p><p> </p><p>“I—“ Mr. Peanutbutter moans. “Oh <em> fuck.”  </em></p><p> </p><p>“C’mon Mr. Peanutbutter, focus.” Bojack says, his tone almost serious. “Tell me.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter tries his best to concentrate on the task at hand. He inhales sharply and leans back against Bojack, choking out an answer between pants. </p><p> </p><p>“Back to—that night.” He says. “God, I think about it <em> so much.”  </em></p><p> </p><p>“I know you do.” Bojack replies. “You wanted it bad back then, didn’t you?”</p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter’s chest is heaving. He nods and whines, tensing as Bojack picks up his pace. </p><p> </p><p>“Seemed like it. I’ve never seen someone deepthroat a cock as quick as you did.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter’s both glad and overwhelmed that he’d decided to try his luck tonight. The only real thing they’d been doing so far barely crossed the lines of being sexual. One of them occasionally got felt up by the other while they made out in some random area of the house, but it typically stopped there. They were both in uncharted territory. Mr. Peanutbutter doesn’t want to press too far, and it seems like Bojack doesn’t want to either. He’d gone in not sure what to expect if things actually did escalate tonight, but God, was he glad they did. </p><p> </p><p>“You said you thought about us before—“ Mr. Peanutbutter speaks up. “What did you—“ </p><p> </p><p>“I wanted to shut you up for once.” Bojack cuts him off. “You still run your mouth now but, Jesus, you could fucking talk back then.” </p><p> </p><p>“Shut me up? How?” </p><p> </p><p>“A couple different ways.” He starts. “I thought about getting shitfaced and dragging you back to my dressing room. I’d bend you over—I don’t know, the couch or something. The point is, I thought that if I fucked you hard enough, maybe you might <em> finally </em> shut up.” </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter feels drunk. He doesn’t try to contain the loud, shaky moan that escapes his chest. He’s too busy taking in the mental image Bojack’s just conjured in his mind. </p><p> </p><p>“You like the sound of that, don’t you?” Bojack asks, chuckling softly at the nod Mr. Peanutbutter gives in response. “Yeah, I had a feeling you would.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack takes hold of Mr. Peanutbutter’s hips and yanks him back, pressing his own erection so firmly into Mr. Peanutbutter’s ass the Labrador croons out, barely muttering a low “<em>Oh God— </em>“ as takes in the sensation.</p><p> </p><p>“Ever taken one this big before?” </p><p> </p><p>“N—no—“ He stutters. “Never.” </p><p> </p><p>Bojack grunts at that. At some point, he’d started rutting forward against Mr. Peanutbutter and every moan he lets out in response is incredible. Bojack didn’t picture him being this sensitive, but clearly his instinct had been incorrect . Mr. Peanutbutter was a mess. His whines were filling the room, his body was hot and his fur was damp with sweat. He was desperate, and Bojack almost feels bad about riling him up so much. He’s too enthralled in the pleasure currently funneling up his groin to care, however.</p><p> </p><p>“God, you moan like a bitch.” He says, choking off Mr. Peanutbutter’s erection with a tight, slow stroke. “You can barely keep it together right now.” </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Fuck! Bojack!” </em> Mr. Peanutbutter starts panting harder. His hips involuntarily buck forward as his muscles seize up. “Please, please, <em> please—“  </em></p><p> </p><p>“You close?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes—Bojack, <em> come on!” </em></p><p> </p><p>He tightens his grip again and Mr. Peanutbutter’s whine is so loud it nearly bounces off the walls. “What do you want?” </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Bojaaack—“  </em></p><p> </p><p>“I wanna hear you say it.” He says, panting into Mr. Peanutbutter’s ear. “Now be a good boy and <em> tell me </em>what it is that you want.<em>”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter breaks. “<em> Please </em> make me come—I need it—“ he whines. “ <em> Oh god—fuck!”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Bojack doesn’t know how, but Mr. Peanutbutter’s neediness sparks something carnal in him. It’s thrilling—he hasn’t done something this intense sexually for God knows how long. Mr. Peanutbutter was moaning for <em> him </em> , he was practically sobbing and gasping for air, all for <em> him. </em>It goes straight to Bojack’s head and ends up pushing him to do something a bit more daring. He wedges his free arm underneath Mr. Peanutbutter’s side and takes a hold of his throat, squeezing lightly until he just barely starts wheezing. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Bojack—“  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Come on,” He growls. “Be good for me.”</p><p> </p><p>The tone in Bojack’s voice sends chills down Mr. Peanutbutter’s spine. He’d fantasized about this millions of times, but none of it compared to the real thing. It’s all too much and any shred of composure he has left snaps in half like a frayed rope.</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter feels it in his stomach first. That familiar fluttering sensation quickly evolves into a shockwave of pleasure that nearly renders his entire body numb. He takes hold of the hand around his throat and grips onto it for dear life, bucking erratically as he finally comes across the sheets. He lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a sob and a groan, shuddering as he rides out the seemingly endless waves of his climax.</p><p> </p><p>Bojack releases his grip once Mr. Peanutbutter stops shaking. He notes the sticky mess coating part of his hand and suddenly, everything that’s just transpired clicks in his head. He’d just given Mr. Peanutbutter the mother of all handjobs and made him come so hard he practically felt limp. Someone he’d once loathed unimaginably was lying in his arms, struggling to catch his breath from a mindblowing orgasm. </p><p> </p><p>And if he was being honest with himself, Bojack had enjoyed every fucking second of it.</p><p> </p><p>“I made you come.” He finally musters, staring ahead at the wall.</p><p> </p><p> “Thanks ole’ buddy.” Mr. Peanutbutter slurs. “Couldn’t have done it without you—“ </p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit, are you okay?” He pulls away a bit, sitting up and examining Mr. Peanutbutter’s neck. “Fuck. I may have gotten a little carried away—“ </p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine.” Mr. Peanutbutter waves a hand. “I like being choked.” </p><p> </p><p>The amount of confidence he says it with takes Bojack aback. He raises an eyebrow and scoffs a bit, reaching for a tissue to wipe the mess off his hand. </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t picture Diane being into that kind of thing.” </p><p> </p><p>“Not Diane, Katrina.” Mr. Peanutbutter replies. “She was kind of a dominatrix in bed. I learned a lot of things about myself when I was married to her.”   </p><p> </p><p>“Fascinating.” Bojack says, tossing the tissue into the trash. “Well, we’ll definitely have to circle back around to that at some point.”</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter yawns and turns over onto his back, looking up and Bojack with tired, yet satisfied eyes. “Y’know? I’m really glad we started doing this whole thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“...Me too.” Bojack replies, sliding back down into bed. “This has actually been...pretty great so far.” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, you know what they say about fooling around with your best friend.” Mr. Peanutbutter smirks. “You can only go up from here!” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s truly one of the most incorrect things you’ve ever said but whatever. I’m too tired to care right now.” Bojack turns over into his side. “Do me a favor, hose the cum off yourself before calling it quits for the night. I don’t want it staining the sheets.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh crap, you’re right! How inconsiderate of me.” The bed lurches as Mr. Peanutbutter climbs out. “I’ll go get cleaned up.” </p><p> </p><p>“You do that.” Bojack gives a tired thumbs up as Mr. Peanutbutter walks towards the bathroom. “Keep it down when you come back in.”</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Peanutbutter says something as the door closes, but Bojack can’t make it out. He guesses he’d just needed to let off a bit of energy. He’s already dozing off and planning what he’s going to steal for breakfast at work tomorrow.</p><p> </p><p>He settles back under the sheets and closes his eyes as he drifts off, hoping to God he doesn’t wake up <em> too </em>groggy before his shift. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wrote this quicker than I could respond to comments, but nonetheless, here we are. Per usual, thank you everyone for the lovely comments. I know one person said they’d be interested in a server so I’ll have it up and running soon. </p><p>Adios mis amigos, until next time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bojack wishes that with the cocktail of pills that he took for a myriad of different reasons, at least one of them would help with his rampant paranoia. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Things had gotten significantly better in relation to his mental health over the past year. He’d actually gotten </span>
  <em>
    <span>help </span>
  </em>
  <span>in prison. His last catastrophic spiral rightfully scared the living shit out of him. He’d come so close to losing everything that it shocked him into trying to actually get better while he had nothing else to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The racing thoughts got better and the cacophony of voices in his head quieted down. He didn’t go to sleep in hopes of escaping the real world only to wake up to everything flooding back in. The weight of it all crushed him less and less as the days went on. In fact, the first morning he can remember where he’d thought nothing at all was fairly recent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d woken up next to Mr. Peanutbutter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’d been fooling around for a little while now; Bojack had developed this weird affliction for the way Mr. Peanutbutter trembled when he was about to get off and Mr. Peanutbutter clearly had some unspoken desires to be bossed around in bed. It struck Bojack as odd at first, but the more thought he gave it, the more it made sense. Even with a beaming, overly confident disposition, Mr. Peanutbutter was a people pleaser. He wanted to keep everyone in the best spirits he possibly could and he wanted recognition for it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That being said, getting Bojack’s approval </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>praise was like doing a line of coke to him. It set Mr. Peanutbutter’s nerves on fire in the best way possible and he wasn’t about to give up that high any time soon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Bojack opened his eyes and saw Mr. Peanutbutter lying next to him one morning, something shifted in his brain. The Labrador was flat on his back, one hand draped over his chest and the other beside his head. He wasn’t snoring incessantly or drooling all over the pillow. His knee wasn’t wedged in Bojack’s side and bumping him repeatedly as he had some happy go lucky dream about running through a park. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was just...lying there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack watched silently as his chest rose and fell. It was barely morning; dawn was just leaning over the horizon as hazy sunlight crept into the room. It washed Mr. Peanutbutter in a warm, orange glow and made his fur look like a soft sea of golden embers. It was an incredibly sappy observation, but that’s what Bojack saw. A strikingly beautiful man sleeping mere inches away from him</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the moment he’d had another, poignant realization. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was out of his mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends, </span>
  </em>
  <span>for god's sake. Why the hell did it take him this long to come to his senses? If things  kept going like this, everything was going to crash and burn in a pitiful, explosive train wreck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What the hell was he thinking? He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>come to the conclusion that he did indeed like men one way or another. He’d also just found out that one of those men happened to be his friend of over twenty years. Well, colleague of nineteen years and friend of one year, if he was being honest, but that wasn’t the point. The important thing was that his emotions were a tangled mess of confusion, happiness, and lust, and he couldn’t comprehend a single ounce of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack wanted to pin Mr. Peanutbutter to his bed and watch him beg for it. He wanted to see that desperate face Mr. Peanutbutter made when he could barely handle it. That felt more normal to him. He could unpack that easier. He was an older man who clearly had some repressed sexual desires and had nothing to lose by acting on them. So what if he was apparently bisexual? He was so washed up by this point that he doubted anyone would even give a damn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Watching Mr. Peanutbutter gave Bojack a loving, tender feeling deep in his chest, however, and it was at that exact moment that he knew he was completely and utterly fucked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was attracted to Mr. Peanutbutter in more ways than one, and that terrified him to his very core. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>————————————————-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack pulls one of his classic moves and stays out of the house as much as he can. He already can’t decipher whatever cryptic message his instincts are sending him and being around Mr. Peanutbutter sure as hell didn’t make it any easier. He needs time to think and he needs to do it alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack hops around from cafe to cafe, spending as much time as he reasonably can before he starts getting weird looks from the staff. He eventually ends up at a Panera and sits staring into a half eaten bowl of French onion soup. He’s hoping that he can find the answer in the onion chunks like that shady psychic did when he and Princess Carolyn watched her read some tea leaves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack keeps his eyes fixed on the bowl until he senses something standing just outside the booth he’s in. He looks up, ready to tell the person to fuck off so he can go back to trying to divine his soup. His words get caught up the moment he realizes who it is and he stutters like a broken printer, desperately trying to figure out how the world keeps putting him in these types of situations.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t you be handing pretzel dogs to white collar executives between flights?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack lowers his brows. “I called out today. I wasn’t feeling well.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat places a hand on her hip and takes a sip from her coffee cup. “Well you certainly aren’t gonna feel better after eating that. You know onions make you gassy—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Princess Carolyn, why are you here?” He asks bluntly, rubbing his temple. “Since when do you get your own coffee in the middle of the day? Did one of your interns drop dead or something?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She scoffs. “Judah insisted that I needed a ‘self care day’. He offered to hold down the fort at VIM today and he’s probably the only person on earth I’d trust to do that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, so who has Ruthie?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Judah.” Princess Carolyn answers plainly. “He’s wary of daycare services but refused to let me stress out even remotely today.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack raises an eyebrow. “How is he supposed to get work done while watching a two year old at the same time?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Easy. We got an iPad for emergencies.” She says. “Put on reruns of Teletubbies and she’s basically watching herself.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods. “Yeah, that does sound like a pretty practical solution.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn looks him up and down before setting her coffee down on the table. “What’s bothering you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The question is so forward it takes Bojack aback. He hesitates and clears his throat while he tries to formulate a response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean? I’m fine. Why would I not be fine?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I watched you stare into that bowl of onion soup for five minutes straight.” She replies. “You’re trying to do that thing that psychic did that one time with the tea leaves. Clearly you’re going through something.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who says it </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be tea? Why can’t it be any chunky liquid—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bojack.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stops. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, I came here because it’s a block from my apartment and I’m a sucker for their chocolate chunk cookies. Nothing else. You think I’d offer up my free time to you today if I couldn’t tell something was off?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack blinks. She did have a point. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...It’s personal.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And it’s a long story.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like I said, I’ve got time.” Princess Carolyn takes it upon herself to slide into the seat across from him, bracing her elbows on the table as she laces her fingers together. “Start talking.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fighting her would be more effort than it was worth. Princess Carolyn was far too strong willed and she’d break him eventually anyway. Besides, Princess Carolyn knew more personal, embarrassing things about him than anyone. It wasn’t like this would be that huge of a shock either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes do go a bit wide when he tells her about how everything started, and again when he brings up the events of the past few weeks. She doesn’t seem alarmed or even surprised when he finishes. If anything, the look on her face is knowing and speaks volumes all on its own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know you said you two reconciled about it, but Jesus, Bojack.” She starts. “You seduced him knowing he’d bite and then tried to act like nothing ever happened the next day. That’s pretty low.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scowls at her. “Listen, I’ve had nearly two decades to feel guilty about this and I’m not about to let you rub even more salt in that wound.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn holds a hand up. “Sorry, just had to get it out first.” She says. “So, you’re seeing Mr. Peanutbutter.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack lips tighten into a line. “I don’t know if I’d go as far as to say that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you’re just sleeping together then?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean, technically not. We haven’t, um, yknow—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think letting a man blow you while you blather on about what’d you’d do to him qualifies as sleeping together, Bojack.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face falls. “Wait, did I tell you that part?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, but I did sleep with you for seven years.” Princess Carolyn answers. “You can learn a lot about a person’s MO in that time.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack glowers and sits back in his seat. “Everyone has a routine PC. Don’t start giving me flack for that—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not. You asked me a question, and I answered it.” She lifts her cup. “So what's the problem?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack blinks. “What do you mean ‘what's the problem’? It isn’t obvious?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not really.” Princess Carolyn replies. “You’re both single men in your fifties who’ve been in multiple relationships, known each other since the nineties and from my understanding, have become very close friends over the past year or so.” She says. “It seems like it was bound to happen at some point to be honest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” He says “You think it makes sense that Mr. Peanutbutter and I would end up together?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that not what I just said?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How the hell did you come to that conclusion?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gives him a knowing look and raises an eyebrow. “You two care about each other. A lot.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I’d say that—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, I’m not saying I don’t care about Mr. Peanutbutter at all, I’m saying that I care about him the normal amount a friend would—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And yet you have feelings for him, don’t you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack goes quiet. He needs a second to figure out how to counter her as she looks him up and down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take that resounding silence as a yes.” Princess Carolyn says, smirking. “But I still don’t see the problem. Clearly he has feelings for you too.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack scoffs in disbelief. “And? What am I supposed to do? Just pursue Mr. Peanutbutter?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn squints. “Yes?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you insane? I can’t do that!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” She asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I can’t. End of story.” He clears his throat again. “Now, it was lovely talking with you, but I’ve clearly over shared—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bojack, what’ve you got to lose from just seeing where this goes?” Princess Carolyn asks, her eyes sincere. “I haven’t seen you this upbeat in a long time. Well, aside from today.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighs. “I just—I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m afraid of.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, i can tell you one thing. Continuing to just fuck your feelings away isn’t going to help. If anything, it’ll make things worse in the long run.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...So what do I do?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk </span>
  </em>
  <span>to him, Bojack.” Princess Carolyn says. “The odds that this’ll go south are already slim to none. Just save yourself the headache and have a heart to heart with him.” She smiles. “You really don’t have much to lose.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Usually, Bojack would take that as an insult. He doesn’t this time, however. He can sense that Princess Carolyn genuinely wants to help, and if anyone was level headed enough to help him see through the shroud of bullshit around his head, it was her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...You’re right. Thank you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Princess Carolyn lifts her cup and swallows the remainder of coffee sloshing in the bottom of it. She scoots out from the booth and slings her bag back on her shoulder, placing a hand on Bojack’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome. Now go make a good choice for once.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some tenderness for your troubles, yknow. </p><p>See you all next update lol.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bojack tells himself the moment he gets home that night that he’s going to march up to Mr. Peanutbutter’s bedroom, fling open his door and pour his heart out. He’d rehearsed what he was going to say in his head on the drive home; he’d taken a shot of five-hour energy just to amp himself up for what was about to happen. He’d even done a few push-ups in the driveway just to </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>get the blood flowing. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all wonderful and dandy until the moment Bojack sets foot outside of Mr. Peanutbutter’s room. All the adrenaline he’d force fed into his veins seemingly evaporates into thin air. His mind is screaming at him to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>turn </span>
  </em>
  <span>the damn knob and get this over with, but he’s petrified. What if this went wrong? What if this conversation went so far left that Bojack would have to evade Mr. Peanutbutter in his own home? His mind starts buzzing with catastrophic possibilities and he takes a step back from the door, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...Tomorrow. He’d do this tomorrow. First thing in the morning. Mr. Peanutbutter was probably asleep anyway and Bojack tells himself he shouldn’t disturb him. It’d be rude and inconsiderate to drag him out of bed this late. It was for the best. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>——- </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next morning, Bojack waits for the scent of sizzling eggs and bacon to waft into his room, but there’s nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By nine, he gets out of bed and throws on his robe, nervously ringing his hands as he travels down to the kitchen. He expects to see Mr. Peanutbutter standing over the stove nudging some scrambled eggs around a pan, but the room is painfully empty instead. Bojack looks around with a concerned expression, searching for any sign that maybe Mr. Peanutbutter was still in the house. He walks over to the sink and sees it free of any dishes, no dirty cutting board or soiled plates. He backtracks to the fridge and looks around to see if maybe Mr. Peanutbutter ran to the store to get more of something. The man constantly chattered on about how eggs were a staple in his home ever since the summer of 2003. Bojack’s sure he’d been told why at some point, but he knows he’d probably tuned it out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes drop to the lowest shelf and he sees a mason jar with a yellow sticky note on it, the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>“For BJ”</span>
  </em>
  <span> written in big, black letters. Bojack removes it from the fridge and realizes there’s another note on the back of the jar. He turns it and squints as he reads, trying his hardest to decipher Mr. Peanutbutter’s chicken scratch handwriting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Heard about this new thing called ‘Overnight Oats” from Érica and Oh. My. God. They are to die for! Had to head out early for shooting this morning but didn’t want to leave my favorite guy with no breakfast. Give it a try! It’s got chocolate chips in it, your favorite. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>See u later tonight &lt;3” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack looks up from the jar and winces. Fuck, this man was going to be the death of him. He’d woken up early just to make him breakfast before work? Sure, he wasn’t too keen on the idea of cold, chunky oatmeal, but it barely mattered. Why the hell was Mr. Peanutbutter so considerate? Why did he have to go out of his way to do things like this?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack almost groans in frustration until he realizes what it is. He cares about him, just like Princess Carolynhad mentioned the day before. He acted purely out of the kindness of his heart, no matter how grand or minuscule the gesture. Bojack’s got that same empty feeling in his chest he normally got whenever Mr. Peanutbutter would leave without him knowing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He misses him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>to hear his stupid quips about being on set and all the things he’s discovered down the rabbit hole of Pinterest. He wants to sit down with Mr. Peanutbutter and have slightly overcooked crepes for breakfast with that weird organic jam he’d gotten from Whole Foods. He wants to wake up next to him again. He wants to watch him turn over in bed and blink away the sleep from his eyes, a lazy smile on his face as he talks in that tired, sultry voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Morning, big guy.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack holds the jar tight in his hand and inhales sharply, swallowing heavily as reality sets in yet again. He’s in deep. He has it bad for Mr. Peanutbutter, and it’s becoming more and more apparent by the day. No amount of stalling was going to change that anytime soon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—————</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack puts it off for a few more nights and fields off Mr. Peanutbutter’s advances the best he can in the meantime. He needs time to fully gather and process his thoughts. This couldn’t be a hastily written rough draft that spilled incoherently out of his mouth. He needs to know exactly what he was going to say and how he was going to say it; he couldn’t afford to fuck this up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter believes him the first two times Bojack makes up some excuse in order to get out of fooling around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not tonight. I’ve gotta leave at five to open the cafe. Maybe some other time champ.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I think I had some bad orange chicken from the Panda Express in the airport. My GI tract is a ticking time bomb right now. I’d stay out of the way if I were you.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were both just reasonable enough for Mr. Peanutbutter to shrug it off and Bojack’s relieved that he’s bought himself a little bit more time. The feeling is incredibly short lived, however. At the end of the week, Bojack feels a pair of hands settle on his shoulders from behind the couch as he’s watching T.V. and he stops dead. Mr. Peanutbutter begins gently massaging the taught muscles under his fingers and leans forward, his mouth stopping just around Bojack’s ear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Had a long day?” He asks, his lips dangerously close to Bojack’s face. “You feel really tense. You know, you should go with me to one of my spa appointments sometime soon. I think you could really benefit from a deep tissue massage.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Um, yeah. I did have a long day actually.” Bojack replies. “I think I did something to my back lifting this big box of cups at work. I should probably go lay down—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good thing you can lie down right here.” Mr. Peanutbutter’s tone is more suggestive and Bojack can feel him nudging his shoulders in the direction of the cushions. “I’m sure we can put our heads together and figure out something you can do to relieve some of that stress.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Peanutbutter, I—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Relax</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Let me help you.” He replies, putting more force in as he shoves Bojack flat on his back. “Let me do all the work tonight. You won’t even have to lift a finger.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack can barely get a word out before Mr. Peanutbutter’s climbing over the back of the couch, pressing his shoulders even further into the cushions as he straddles his waist. Bojack feels Mr. Peanutbutter’s hips roll against his and nearly every one of his muscles locks up. His chest begins to heave as he tries his best to keep it together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh God.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bojack thinks, sucking in air through his nose. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck. Fuck. He’s hard. I can feel it. Shit, goddammit. I’m getting hard too. He’s gonna think I’m into this. </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Fuck!</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter leans forward and laces his fingers in Bojack’s, pressing his hands beside his head as he nuzzles his face in his neck. It starts with a few, gentle nips and rapidly evolves into hot, open mouths kisses, forcing Bojack to clench his jaw shut in order not to react. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter trails them down Bojack’s chest as he unbuttons his work shirt, pressing a few more searing kisses to his stomach. He sinks lower and lower until Bojack feels the familiar sensation of Mr. Peanutbutter gripping him through his pants. He can’t stifle the groan this time and it rumbles out of the back of his throat as his fingers sink into the couch cushion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He needs to get a hold of himself. Trying to think rationally when he was turned on out of his mind was like trying to swim in quicksand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wishes Mr. Peanutbutter wasn’t as good at this as he was. It would make all of this a hell of a lot easier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojacks so caught up in his own head that he doesn’t notice when Mr. Peanutbutter undoes his belt. The Labrador tugs his jeans down and presses another open mouthed kiss to his boxers, gradually teasing him even more as he barely sucks at the head of his cock through the thin fabric of his underwear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack nearly convulses and he has to stop this now. If things kept going he’d shove his feelings away for another however many days and never end up dealing with any of this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Peanutbutter, stop.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The plea seems to go right over his head. Mr. Peanutbutter puts more effort into his ministrations and sucks harder, even going as far as to tug the waistband of Bojack’s boxers down and lap at the exposed flesh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack grits his teeth and breathes heavily through his nose, fighting to get his words out one more time before he loses his common sense to his lust. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Peanutbutter! I said stop!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It comes out louder and angrier than he’d intended. Mr. Peanutbutter jumps back and looks up at him, his eyes wide with confusion as he knits his brows. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did I do something wrong?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck. He sounds like a scared child that’s about to be reprimanded for being disobedient. Bojack shakes his head and clears his throat, his hands moving to put himself back in his pants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We need to talk.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter looks bewildered. He backs up so he can let Bojack’s legs swing back over the edge of the couch and sits timidly by the arm, waiting for him to explain what he means. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have something I need to tell you.” He starts, his voice both heavy and anxious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And it’s fine if you hear me say this and totally bail on this whole thing we’ve got going on. I understand why you would want to.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter raises an eyebrow. “Why would I want to do that? I’ve been waiting nearly two decades for this—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because! Fooling around with each other is different than—“ Bojack catches himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Different than what?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants to just spit the words out, but his brain refuses to let them leave his mouth. They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>right </span>
  </em>
  <span>there, stalled on the tip of his tongue and clinging onto his anxiety for dear life. Why was this so difficult? Why couldn’t he just—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bojack, what is it that you’re trying to tell me?” Mr. Peanutbutter asks, snapping the horse out of his thoughts. “I’m trying to be receptive, but you’re being really cryptic right now. It’s hard to follow.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit. Fuck. You’re right.” Bojack admits, taking a deep breath. “Okay, the only way this is going to come out is in a disjointed, unorganized brain dump and I need you to just bear with me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waits until Mr. Peanutbutter nods and inhales again in an attempt to relax his nerves.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know why it took me this long to realize this about myself. It didn’t even compute in my head until Princess Carolyn sat me down and spelled everything out for me.” He starts. “The more I thought about it, the more I felt like a goddamn idiot for not seeing it sooner. Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>we’d end up like this. Of course we’d make each other’s days just a little bit less shitty.” He looks up. “I spent so much of my life ruining every woman I’ve ever dated. I've watched the life drain out of their eyes until there’s nothing left.  I don’t—“ he hesitates. “I don’t want that to happen to you too.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter looks stunned and Bojack goes into panic mode. He can tell Mr. Peanutbutter is putting the pieces together and he’s preparing himself to pack up all his things and move straight out onto the street. Princess Carolynwas wrong, he had everything to lose from this. His new normal was about to slip right through his fingers like water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Are you saying that—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I have feelings for you.” Bojack finishes. “You’re just—I don’t know. At first I thought I just wanted to y’know. Fool around and see where that went. But Jesus Christ, that isn’t enough for me anymore.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter looks as if he’s going to open his mouth to speak, but instead decides to let him continue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Princess Carolyn told me few years ago that I was afraid of commitment—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter snickers. “Uh, yea. Anyone with eyes could see that buddy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack scowls. “Do you mind? I’m trying to pour my heart out to you and you’re making it more difficult than it already is.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He puts his hands up apologetically. “Of course, of course. Proceed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “I’ve been in so many relationships I’ve lost count. It was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy</span>
  </em>
  <span> for me. Find a girl, date her for a few months until inevitably falls to pieces, and move on to the next one. But I just can’t do that with you. I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanna</span>
  </em>
  <span> do that with you. That’s why this was so hard for me to finally spit out.” He says. “I never thought I’d say this, no offense, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be with you. I feel so much better when I’m around you. After everyone else left, you stayed. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>helped </span>
  </em>
  <span>me.” Bojack takes a deep breath. “This whole ‘being attracted to men’ thing is still really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>new to me, but if I know one thing for certain, it’s that you’ve always been there for me no matter what. And...I guess after all this time I’ve had to actually make sense of our relationship now, I realized...” he trails off. “You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, Mr. Peanutbutter. Even if I didn’t always show it, I want you to know that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter waits a few seconds to be sure that Bojack’s said his piece. Just before the silence can turn awkward, he scoots closer to him, looking warmly into his eyes as he brings a hand to his cheek. Bojack feels his heart jump when Mr. Peanutbutter guides them into a kiss. It’s not intense or fiery or sloppy; it’s chaste. Their lips press together with the slightest bit of force and they both feel themselves melt into it. It’s intoxicating. Bojack’s made out hundreds of women, but nothing compared to this very moment. He’s here and he’s with Mr. Peanutbutter, deep in his embrace and desperate to never leave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They pull away after a few seconds. Mr. Peanutbutter’s hand falls from Bojack’s face and settles on his own, lightly squeezing as a smile spreads across his cheeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This may seem like an exaggeration, but Bojack, I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for years. I’ve wanted this for </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>long, you have no idea.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think that this is the best timing you could’ve lucked out with.” Bojack admits, stroking the back of his neck. “This versión of me is probably the best to date in my opinion. I’m kind of glad this didn’t happen sooner. I don’t know if it would’ve been the right time.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think we both had some soul searching to do before we ended up here.” Mr. Peanutbutter says back. “Hell, I doubt we’re even done with that searching—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, don’t say that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh relax, big guy. My point is that we’ve grown a lot in the past few years.” He takes a tighter hold of Bojack’s hand and laces his finger in his. “And now we can grow together.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack would normally roll his eyes at something so sappy, but the urge to do so is so far away in his mind that all he can do is smile shyly in response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d like that.” He says. “I’d like that a lot.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me too.” Mr. Peanutbutter replies, clearing his throat. “So, does this mean we’re...?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re...?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A thing? You know, like, a couple?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack blinks. He doesn’t know why the idea of their relationship having a title has just occurred in his mind. He shoves away the voices of doubt reaching in from the back of his brain and nods instead, looking Mr. Peanutbutter in the eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Yes we’re a couple. I’m...” he takes a breath. “I’m your boyfriend now, I guess. Wait, shit, that came out weird. This is still new to me—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You hush now. Don’t worry about a single thing.” Mr. Peanutbutter says, gripping Bojack’s hand. “I’m the happiest man alive right now. Nothing’s gonna bring me down anytime soon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack gives the faintest smile and exhales slowly. This was perfect. Things were perfect right now, and he’s willing to put in the work to make sure it stays that way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, have any idea what you wanna do now?” Mr. Peanutbutter asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Uh, well, part of me wants to finish what we started earlier but, I feel like it’d be a little out of place after y’know. Confessing my feelings to you and everything.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s all good. We have all the time in the world to do stuff like that.” Mr. Peanutbutter places a hand on Bojack’s thigh. “I heard that new clown-related crime series on NBeeC is pretty great. Wanna binge a few episodes before we turn in?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack chuckles. “Yeah, sure. I find it baffling that there are enough clown-related crimes in the first place to even make a show like that, but who knows. Maybe we’ll learn something from it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You never know.” Mr. Peanutbutter scoots back towards the edge of the couch and lays against the back of the chair, purposefully leaving space for Bojack to squeeze in. “Wanna cuddle?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The question catches him off guard, but he quickly comes to his senses. With a small amount of hesitation, Bojack nods and moves towards the arm, lying flat on his back as he lets Mr. Peanutbutter lie his head on his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They end up staying like that for the rest of the night; Mr. Peanutbutter drifts off into sleep before Bojack and he can’t bring himself to disturb him. He looked far too peaceful. Instead, Bojack reaches to yank a pillow from further down the couch and wedges it behind his head, his eyes slowly closing as he pulls Mr. Peanutbutter in closer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s home. He finally feels at home. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Heya folks the BoButter server is officially up and running so if you’re 18+ and down to clown just comment and I’ll throw a link your way. Peace out my dudes</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You seem like you’re in a good mood today.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack looks up from the blender in front of him and over to the other side of the counter, watching as a Maude steps in from the back room, a box of eight ounce cups in tow. He cuts off the motor and lifts the pitcher from its place as he snatches a cup from under the counter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really?” He asks. “What makes you say that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t complained once since you got here today.” Maude replies, setting the box down. “That’s like a world record for you. Usually the first thing you do after you clock is complain about morning traffic while you make an espresso.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“First of all, I don’t just make </span>
  <em>
    <span>espressos, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I make </span>
  <em>
    <span>artisanal creations.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bojack says, carefully pouring the contents of the blender into the cup. “Look at that. Look at this form, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>elegance.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maude squints and bends over to take a closer look. “What is that? Vanilla Mint?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s matcha with a crapton of almond milk in it.” He answers. “Apparently Mr. Peanutbutter’s on this non dairy kick now. There’s like four different types of milk in our fridge right now because he can’t make up his mind. He found bamboo milk at Whole Foods. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bamboo </span>
  </em>
  <span>milk. What even is that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A smirk pulls at Maude’s lips as she raises an eyebrow. “That’s for Mr. Peanutbutter?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, why?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shrugs. “Just curious. That’s pretty nice of you to grab him something while you’re here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack’s blush is hidden beneath his fur as he tops the drink off with a mountain of whipped cream. “Well, what can I say? I’m feeling pretty generous today.” He says. “Besides. It’s not like I’m paying for this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bojack.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” He asks. “Do you know how many drinks we end up throwing away because some fifty year old mother of three wanted unsweetened coconut milk instead of sweetened or some other bullshit? This large latte isn’t gonna hurt Daddy Cinnabunny’s pockets, Maude. I promise you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She puts her hands up and takes a step back. “You’ve made your point. By all means, take down capitalism from the ground up.” She says. “So, I take it that things are going good between you and Mr. Peanutbutter lately?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack hesitates. He already has a habit of oversharing and he doesn’t know if he’s quite ready for his business to be out in the open yet. He needs to plan his words very, very carefully so he doesn’t give away more than he wants to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Eh.” He shrugs. “Not really. Same old same old, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maude laughs through her nose and leans against the counter. “Is that right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course it’s right. Why would that not be right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no reason,” She shoves her hands into her pockets and removes a familiar looking black phone from her apron. Bojack immediately goes pale, his body frozen in place and his eyes locked on her hands. “It’s just that, well, you left your phone charging in the back and I just so happened to catch a glimpse of it when I was organizing some boxes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maude, give me the phone—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She clears her throat and holds it up to her face. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Hey BJ. Hope you’re having a fantastic morning.’” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I swear to god, if you don’t—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“‘What were you thinking for dinner tonight? Take out or a home cooked meal? I know how much you love old fashioned mashed potatoes.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Maude.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“‘I just can’t make up my mind! Text me back when you get a chance.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She grins as her eyes go wide. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Oh, by the way. Last night was incredible. Still a little worn out now. Anyways. See you when you get in, lovebug. &lt;3”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Give me that!” Bojack finally gathers enough nerve to reach out and wrestle his phone away from her, shoving it into his back pocket so swiftly she barely sees it. “What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you know it’s a huge invasion of privacy to just go and read someone’s text messages like that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She scoffs. “Pro tip, maybe don’t have them display on your lock screen if you’re gonna walk away from your phone for that long.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can set my phone however I want!” Bojack snaps back, scowling in her direction. “I shouldn’t have to adjust my life just so people don’t stick their noses in my business.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“FaIr point, but you know what you’re doing right now? You’re dodging the elephant in the room.” Maude steps closer, grinning from ear to ear as she looks up at him like she’s just won the lottery.”Youre dating Mr. Peanutbutter.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maude, this doesn’t involve you—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And </span>
  </em>
  <span>according to him, you two are apparently making rough, passionate love.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, and?” Bojack snaps, not knowing what else to say. Maude flinches at the change in his volume and he straightens up. “Look, I’m only gonna tell you this for two reasons. One, I know you won’t shut up about this until I clue you in. Two, there’s no way in </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> I'm letting you keep the upper hand in this situation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She blinks. “That’s fair.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good.” He lowers his voice. “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this kiosk, got it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maude nods and Bojack takes a breath, mentally preparing himself to explain the several unexpected turns that he and Mr. Peanutbutter’s relationship had taken over the past couple of weeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so....”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>———-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack’s grip on Mr. Peanutbutter’s thigh tightens as he feels the muscles contract under his touch. A heady, languid moan falls from the labrador’s lips as Bojack’s fingers work him open, trying his best to keep the sensation more satisfying than uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ha—-aHH</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He chokes out. “Oh my </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I forgot how intense this could be—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You and me both, partner.” Bojack replies, carefully watching Mr. Peanutbutter’s reaction as he curls his fingers upward. “How’s that feel?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He groans and wrenches his fists in the sheets, his thighs inadvertently catching the horses head in their grip. Bojack smirks and presses in again, gently putting more force in this time. The sound Mr. Peanutbutter makes is desperate and exhilarating all at once, and Bojack’s having the slightest bit of trouble restraining himself from making him fall apart right then and there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God. I could listen to that all night.” He says, lovingly rubbing Mr. Peanutbutter’s leg. “You’re so noisy. It drives me crazy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh believe me, you’ll get to hear as much of it as your heart desires.“ He tries to catch his breath as he looks up at him, a determined look in his eye. “I’m ready.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that, Bojack stops his ministrations. “Wait, what?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I said I’m ready for it.” Mr. Peanutbutter repeats. “Do me, Bojack.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhh...” He swiftly removes his fingers from within Mr. Peanutbutter and sits up slightly. “You’re sure about that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember. If we keep going like this, I’ll blow my load before things even get good.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, uh, here’s the thing.” Bojack starts. “I thought we were still taking this stuff slow. If I had known you’d wanna go all the way tonight, then I would’ve done this differently.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter raises an eyebrow. “How so?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you may </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’re ready, but I can guarantee you that you’re not.” He replies. “I’ve done anal enough times to know that a few fingers aren’t gonna cut it in terms of prep.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter scoffs and waves a dismissive hand. “Oh come on, Bojack. I’m not made of glass. you’re not gonna break me—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Peanutbutter, I’m not saying this to be pompous. I’m being serious.” He says more firmly. “I'm a horse. Horses are </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>well endowed. If I try to fuck you right now, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>going</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hurt—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense. Listen BJ, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve had quite a few things up my butt in my life time, most of them sexually—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Most?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I promise you that without a doubt, I can handle this.” Mr. Peanutbutter says. “If it makes you feel any better, I had this secret toy that was pretty big. After some </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>hard work and dedication, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> one less than dignified trip to the ER, I took that bad boy no problem.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You went to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>ER?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bojack asks in disbelief. “You know what, no. If anything, that just confirms my theory that you don’t know your limits. We can’t  do this tonight—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bojack.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks up. Mr. Peanutbutter’s face is wrought with an emotion somewhere between determined and impatient. He places a hand on Bojack’s shoulder and leans in closer, ensuring he has the horse’s full attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I really appreciate your concern. Believe me, i do. I wish Katrina would’ve had the same attitude back then—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus. Ouch.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But really, you don’t think I knew what I was getting myself into here?” He asks. “I already know this is gonna be hell in the first stretch, no pun intended, and I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>care—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I promise I’ll let you know if it’s too much.” Mr. Peanutbutter says, smiling back at him. “Just do me a favor and trust me for once, okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As much as Bojack’s brain is telling him to keep going back and forth with him, he swallows his doubts and nods instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Yeah. I can work with that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great!”  Mr. Peanutbutter replies. “Now, what position were you thinking? I know missionary’s best for this type of thing but it’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you know? Ooh! I know. My yoga instructor told me about this one position where you grab your ankles and squat—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down there tiger.” Bojack cuts in. “We can save the tricks and shit for down the line. How about doggy style?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter lowers his brows. “Oh I get it. Because I’m a dog. You’re hysterical, Bojack.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? No! I—“ He groans and runs a hand down his face. “You know what, just turn over. Get on your hands and knees.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I think we should—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Peanutbutter.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shift in Bojack’s tone makes his ears shoot up. Bojack’s patience is clearly beginning to run thin and Mr. Peanutbutter isn’t entirely sure where things will go if he keeps egging him on like this. Rather than continuing to debate, he gathers himself on the bed and gracelessly flips onto his front, his palms flat against the cold, white sheets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack takes it upon himself to yank his hips back towards him, pressing his himself flush against Mr. Peanutbutter’s ass. He lets out the smallest grunt and Bojack feels that isn’t enough for him, but he’ll be patient. He has to hold back in the beginning, at the very least.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smooths a copious amount of lube over himself and takes hold of Mr. Peanutbutter’s ass, spreading his cheeks before rubbing the head of his cock against his entrance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This gonna be really, really, slow at first, okay?.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels him squirm impatiently beneath him. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but can you </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> just put it in already—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His words are choked off by a gasp as Bojack presses his hips forward, successfully making Mr. Peanutbutter go dead silent. The squeeze is </span>
  <em>
    <span>insanely </span>
  </em>
  <span>tight, just as Bojack predicted. He grits his teeth and digs his fingers into Mr. Peanutbutter’s hips as he pushes in inch by inch, moving so agonizingly slow that it’s driving him crazy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Breathe for me, Mr. Peanutbutter.” He places a hand on his back. “I need you to relax. The more tense you are, the more difficult this is gonna be.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutters panting with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, his brows knit and head pressed into the pillows. Bojack looks down at him and notes the tears pooling in the corner of his eyes and pauses, leaning over his back to nuzzle his face in the crook of his shoulder . </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like you said, we can stop if it’s too much.” He says, trying his best to console him with a few kisses to his neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter manages to shake his head as he lets out a strained exhale. “I’m fine. I want this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you absolutely sure?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I’m one hundred percent sure.” He replies, glancing back over his shoulder with a needy expression. “Bojack, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods and picks up where he’d left off, pushing into Mr. Peanutbutter with a bit more force this time. It takes some deep breathing and patience, but once Bojack’s cock presses past a snag of resistance, it sinks deep. The groan he lets out is so guttural it shakes the walls. Mr. Peanutbutter shudders out a loud, drawn out moan as Bojack finally reaches the hilt, his hips now flush against the others.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He grits. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s good.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter’s at a loss for words. Every sentence he tries to form falls to pieces before it can leave his mouth as his brain tries to process how </span>
  <em>
    <span>full </span>
  </em>
  <span>he feels. All he can manage is a slur of the words “Bojack” and “so deep” as his chest heaves for dear life. Bojack pulls out the slightest bit only to swiftly push back in, ripping another desperate moan from Mr. Peanutbutter’s throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuuuck.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He whines, gripping at the sheets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s it,” Bojack gains enough composure to start up a pace of slow, steady thrusts. “Take it nice and easy for me, just like that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even at the leisurely pace, the sensation is so all-consuming that Bojack knows his fingertips will leave bruises with how hard he’s gripping Mr. Peanutbutter’s waist. He listens for an affirmative noise from him, something to let Bojack know that he’s not causing him any pain. Mr. Peanutbutter isn’t silent, but his eyes are dazed. They’re half lidded and glossy as they stare out at nothing in particular. His brows are wrought and his jaw slightly open as he lets out the weakest moans on each thrust. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s then that Bojack realizes Mr. Peanutbutter’s on cloud nine. He looks as if his brain is still rebooting after a forced restart. During nearly every sexual encounter they’d had so far, Mr. Peanutbutter had been so vocal that at times Bojack would have crab at him to quiet down. He was always so loud and boisterous at every chance he’d gotten, except now. He’s clearly a bit overstimulated, and despite the fact Bojack sees this as an immense turn-on, he wants more right now. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs </span>
  </em>
  <span>to hear something leave his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, PB.” Bojack leans over his back again, briefly lessening the force behind his thrusts. “I need some audience participation here. Talk to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The change in his tone seems to monetarily clear the fog behind Mr. Peanutbutter’s eyes. He looks back over his shoulder and swallows hard, exhaling as he speaks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get on top of me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack’s stops “What? You literally just said you didn’t wanna do missionary—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know what I said, but now I’m changing my mind.” He says firmly. “Pull out, and get on top of me.” The look on Bojack’s face reads as slightly unconvinced. Mr. Peanutbutter cranes his neck around as much as possible until the horse can see the softness in his eyes. “I want to actually look at you during this, Bojack.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite everything in the intimacy-fearing part of his brain screaming in protest, he nods instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “...Alright. Yeah, sure.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With one swift motion, Bojack follows his directions. Mr. Peanutbutter lets out a surprised yelp at the sudden emptiness he feels, but quickly recovers as he’s nudged onto his back. His fur bristles as he feels Bojack press his knees back towards his shoulders, the cool air of his bedroom wafting through expected areas of his body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this uncomfortable?” Bojack asks, pausing momentarily. “I didn’t even ask if you were flexible enough for this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The look on Mr. Peanutbutter’s face makes him anxious. He blinks a few times and stares intensely at his face, second after second drifting by before his expression melts into a grin. Laughs spill from his mouth as Bojack looks down at him in complete and utter confusion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you laughing? What did I say?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No reason.” He replies, quieting down. “I just think it’s cute, as all.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack raises a brow. “What, me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and how concerned you are about me.” Mr. Peanutbutter can’t help but chuckle again. “It feels like you really care.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack barely hesitates before he responds. “Of course I do. You mean a lot to me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter smiles and lays back into the pillows: “This is fine. I didn’t do hot yoga every morning for two months last summer just to be stiff and rigid, now did I?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack rolls his eyes as he lines back up with Mr. Peanutbutter’s entrance, a smile pulling at his lips. “Shut up.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air of tenderness in the room eventually settles down as they pick up where they’d left off. Bojack presses back into Mr. Peanutbutter and the new angle makes him grip onto Mr. Peanutbutter’s legs for dear life. The Labrador tosses his head back as a whimper barely falls from his mouth, the small, weak noises he lets out growing louder and louder as they find their rhythm again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shroud of unsureness and apprehension in the air  melts away as the heat rises between the two of them. Bojack tries his best to keep his composure, to not let Mr. Peanutbutter see </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely </span>
  </em>
  <span>everything when he was this vulnerable. He holds on until Mr. Peanutbutter wiggles his legs out of his grip only to wrap them around his waist, locking him into an embrace as he pulls him in impossibly deep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ—“ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bojack’s arms buckle and he collapses onto his forearms. “Holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit—</span>
  </em>
  <span>God, you’re so fucking good at this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter looks up through the sweat-dampened fur ebbing at the corners of his vision. He waits for Bojack to open his eyes again and tightens his hold, needily letting out a one word plea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Harder—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I said, fuck me </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter repeats, more demanding this time. “I want it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Bojack asks, slightly winded. “I don’t know if—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For the love of God—quit asking me if I’m sure!” he snaps. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>telling</span>
  </em>
  <span> you to fuck me harder, so just shut up already and—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack doesn’t argue with him for once. The next thrust he gives makes Mr. Peanutbutter howl his name so loud the next house over had to have heard it. He’s never heard anyone scream his name like that before and it’s mesmerizing. It’s so wanton, so painfully </span>
  <em>
    <span>desperate. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He can feel Mr. Peanutbutter’s claws starting to dig into his back and shred left of his inhibitions fly out the window. He’s so lost in the moment; it’s unbelievable that any of this is even happening. He’s buried deep in one of closest friends, and it all feels so </span>
  <em>
    <span>right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bojack can’t gather his thoughts into a coherent sentence until he looks down, meeting Mr. Peanutbutter’s eyes in a blazingly overwhelming gaze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>His chest heaves and the words fall from his lips quicker than he can even process them. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I love you.</span>
  <em>
    <span>” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>———</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ohh </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Maude stares up at Bojack with wide eyes. “You dropped the l-word.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know I did.” He replies, sighing. “I didn’t even think before I said it. It just...came out.” By</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I can guarantee you that you’re not the only one who’s said ‘I love you’ in the heat of the moment—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s the thing,” Bojack looks over at her. “I don’t think it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>the heat of the moment. I didn’t get that visceral, immediate, gut feeling of regret that I’ve gotten before when I’ve done something like that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It felt natural, is what you’re saying?”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, it did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She waits a second. “So, </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>you in love with him?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack inhales. It feels so foreign on the top of his tongue, but he just can’t lie to himself about this. This wasn’t something he could gloss over and not think about. It mattered too much to him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Peanutbutter </span>
  </em>
  <span>mattered too much to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am.” He says plainly, looking at the ground. “I barely know what I’m doing and I keep feeling like I’m fucking everything up.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What makes you say that?” Maude asks. “Did he not take it well?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack slips back into the moment. The wide eyed stare he gives Mr. Peanutbutter after realizing what he’s said. The look of awe that washes over Mr. Peanutbutter’s face before his hands pull Bojack down into a searing, passionate kiss. They groan into it and Bojack gives a experimental thrust, pulling a breathy moan from Mr. Peanutbutter’s open mouth as his lips barely ghost Bojack’s </span>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span>“I love you too.” He breathes.</span></em> <em><span>“I’ve loved you for —so long—“ </span></em></p><p> </p><p><em><span>“I know.” Bojack presses his forehead against his.</span></em> <em><span>“You’re mine. Mine and only mine.” </span></em></p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“He took it really well.” Bojack finally says. “Everything should be fine. I love him and he loves me. I feel whole after so long of feeling like I was just gonna be a little bit broken forever.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>But?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What if this is too good to be true?” He asks.  “We’ve only been seeing each other for three months. What if I’m rushing into this? What if we spend all this time and energy on each other only to realize down the line that we both had rose colored glasses on? I just—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, hold on there. Let's slow down for a second.” Maude takes a step closer and places a hand on his shoulder. “Are you happy with your relationship with Mr. Peanutbutter right now?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah I am, but what if—“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop with the ‘what if’s’, Bojack.” She cuts him off. “You’re not living in that timeline yet. You can’t dwell on everything that might go wrong with a good thing that’s happening in your life. In </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> moment, you have a boyfriend that you’ve known for nearly half your life and you both know that you love and care about each other. Just let it happen. If things fall apart later on, then they fall apart. But right now, you’re doing great, and that’s what you need to focus on.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack finally looks up from the floor after a few, seemingly endless seconds. He glances down at Maude, praying that she can’t see the doubt brimming in his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you really think we could work? Me and Mr. Peanutbutter?” He asks, his brows tense. “I mean, it’s crazy. The more I say it out loud, the more I’m like, ‘You mean to tell me that out of all the people trudging around on this shitty planet, I chose </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I really ended up falling for him?’.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maude frowns. “You sound upset about that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not.” He replies. “It might just come off that way because my default tone when talking about Mr. Peanutbutter is usually set to begrudging. I’m still unlearning that habit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, to be honest, I don’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mr. Peanutbutter personally. I can’t tell you whether or not you’d sink or swim. But I don’t think that should scare you away from seeing this through.” She smirks. “This might sound cheesy but, you usually don’t sink if you know how to swim.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack focuses for a minute, taking in every part of what Maude had said and trying his hardest not to let his brain pick apart the value in her words. He takes in a deep breath through his nose and exhales through his mouth, gathering the last few rowdy thoughts that try to break free. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re right. That is super cheesy, but it’s helpful.” He chuckles. “Thanks for the pep talk. I needed it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course my gentlehorse,” She gives a small bow and curtsy. “‘It’s part of my daily routine at this point.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up.” Bojack rolls his eyes and turns back to blender beside him. “Now, if you’d be nice enough to hand me a cinnabon, I’d like to make my pre-mid-morning brunch shake.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I swear to God. Your heart’s gonna stop with all that sugar.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And until it does, I’m going to interpret that as there being nothing wrong with what I’m doing.” He replies. “Now fling me one of those bad boys.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maude doesn’t debate with him any longer. She grabs a napkin and tosses him a bun, quickly deciding afterwards that they needed to put more in the oven anyways. She disappears into the back and Bojack’s left by himself again; the blender whirs on full volume as he picks up his phone again, swiping to type out a response to Mr. Peanutbutter’s message. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mashed potatoes sound great. Not that boxed mix stuff though, that shit tastes like sawdust.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The reply is almost immediate as his phone vibrates in his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m right there with you. Cooking is a labor of love that just can’t be rushed, y’know? I’ll swing by QuickiMart and get some potatoes and veggies on my way home.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another ping. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“See you later tonight. Love you.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bojack’s fingers hover over the keyboard before he finally settles on a reply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Love you too. See you.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some smut fluff for your troubles lol. Thanks for keeping up my dudes</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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